


Lionhearts

by FreedomFlier (JynX245)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "Character death", Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Captivity, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Cruelty, Crushes, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehydration, Demonic Possession, Developing Friendships, Eventual Romance, Fantasy, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Other, Parasites, Partial Mind Control, Rescue Missions, Revival Mechanics, Sapnap is a gremlin, Sleep Deprivation, Slow Burn, The End (Minecraft), The Nether (Minecraft), Torture, Transformation, Violence, Whump, non-consensual body modification but it's specifically related to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 107,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27366865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JynX245/pseuds/FreedomFlier
Summary: In a world of magic and superstition, your name is more than a form of address and should be held close, soulmates are a rarity lurking just outside of rumor, and two desolate worlds clash in the middle ground, the Overworld.Skeppy is a young warrior who lives in a small village, along with his friends Bad, a medic, and George, another warrior.When their village is caught in the crossfire of the Nether and the End's battles, Bad is kidnapped, George presumed dead, and Skeppy sets off to rescue his best friend, aided by a suspicious traveler named Sapnap.-Updates Sunday or Monday PST
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound, Floris | Fundy & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch, Zak Ahmed & GeorgeNotFound, Zak Ahmed & Sapnap, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 422
Kudos: 367





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dear god I feel like a mess for writing this! So essentially for some info: this AU is heavily inspired by Eragon, and the mechanics of some parts are pretty much lifted from that series.  
> Please note that this is usage of their personas rather than their actual selves, respect the content creators featured in this work (and me, I mean no disrespect with this fic).  
> If you want any refs of the characters, you can find them on my twitter! (Ask, and thy shall receive)

It's a hot summer evening, scents of flowers heavy in the air as a faint breeze stirs the still heat pressing down on the isolated town.

Skeppy rolls over, sprawling out on his back as he stares to the sky, watching as it tinges with orange and the sun creeps away beneath the horizon. He can feel the cool night air begin to settle, and he sits up, turning to face his friend.

"Bad? Are you awake?" Upon hearing his name, Bad lifts his head and nods, the clovers he chose to lay in mixing with his caramel brown hair, white flowers getting caught in the strands as he sits up, blinking owlishly as he adjusts his glasses.  
"Yeah, I'm awake! What's up?"

Skeppy flexes his hand gently, and murmurs, suddenly reluctant,  
"Uh- nothing, just making sure you hadn't passed out in the flowers like a dumbass."

Bad bops him gently on the shoulder, jokingly stating,  
"Language. And did you really think I'd fall asleep like that?"

_Well yeah. You looked incredibly comfortable, and very cute._ Skeppy shelves that thought, and pulls a flower from Bad's hair,  
"Yeah, kinda. You've fallen asleep in weirder places if I'm honest."

Bad laughs softly, a sweet giggle, and Skeppy melts.   
He offers,

"I'll walk you back to your house if you'd like. The mobs will be coming out soon and I don't want you to get hurt."  
Bad links arms with him, tugging him to his feet,  
"Thank you! I'm sure I could handle a few mobs but it's always much safer to pair up. Then you can get help if you need it!"

The summer breeze teases around their necks, raising goosebumps on Skeppy's skin, while Bad adjusts his scarf.  
They both turn to the horizon where the new moon is rising, instinctively, and then glance at each other. Skeppy grabs Bad's hand, and says in a quiet, serious tone,  
"Bad I think you should come home with me tonight. Something is wrong."

He begins pulling Bad along, and a shriek alerts them to the presence of someone else- George, who sprints up the road with his sword and shield in hand, in full armor, and skids to a stop in front of them.

"Guys, they're- there's something coming from the woods," He pants, glancing over his shoulder fearfully. Skeppy asks,  
"Mobs? Is it a zombie invasion? A raid?"

George shakes his head, and then shakes it again,  
"I- I don't know what they are, I couldn't clearly tell. There was just- blue and black, and something in the trees, watching me. I think there was some red in the forest too, fighting with the black things but I-"

"I know, you can't tell," Skeppy interrupts, tightening his hand on his friend's hand, "Let's get to my house. We can arm ourselves and you can recuperate. Hopefully whatever it is isn't some new beast that just wants to slaughter us."  
He begins to take off, dragging Bad behind him much to the other's surprise, and George jogs after them towards Skeppy's house. Skeppy doesn't hesitate, slamming the door open and then rapidly closed behind the three of them. He directs Bad towards his armory, and George to the couch,

"We need a strategy. A way out of here in case those things overpower us."  
Bad returns clad in iron armor, a sword held reluctantly in his hands.  
"What if they're not hostile?" He begins to ask as George winces, undoing a bracer and rolling up his sleeve; on the underside of his forearm is an almost diseased looking slash.

"That- it was only a little scratch," George says, uneasy horror in his tone as he stares at the necrosis creeping through his arm. "It was a small scratch. I barely felt it."

"They're venomous, got it. Bad, get a cloth and treatment for this kind of thing." Bad, eyes wide, nods and runs off to get a cloth and the precious medicine they had stored up over the months.

"Skeppy I- it's going numb, my whole arm," George says in a panic, and Skeppy nods, 

"We shouldn't touch it, no flesh contact in case it spreads. Take off your shirt since it touched that and could've infected it."

George obeys, keeping the cut away from anything else. Bad returns, holding the hot cloth his hands, unease clear in his gaze.  
"Bad, don't touch it with your hands," Skeppy advises, "Try to only let the cloth contact it, and then we'll boil it."

Bad nods, now focusing on cleaning the injury. George flinches rhythmically in time to each swipe of the cloth, and almost cries out in pain once it starts bleeding again, the flesh around the edges still looking dangerous and dead. Bad looks up,  
"This is bad Skeppy, like really bad. I can't tell if it's venom or infection or what, but it might've gotten into his bloodstream, and if it has and is a venom we need an antivenom as soon as possible."

George looks pale, and murmurs,  
"I think I'm gonna throw up." He doesn't though, swallowing it down as Bad bandages his arm securely to make sure that the injury has no contact with the air. Better safe than sorry.

Skeppy takes him by the shoulders gently, and leans in, whispering,  
"Bad, you've got to hide. You're the only one here with any medical skill- and the rest of the town might need you if they make it out. George and me are warriors, we can fight, but I don't want to put you in harm's way."

Bad puffs out his cheeks, crossing his arms,  
"I can fight Skeppy! You don't have to treat me like a child, I'm older than you after all."

Skeppy searches for a reason besides his own desperation to keep Bad safe, and comes up empty,  
"Bad, I...I really don't want you to fight. Could you do this for me? Could you hide for my sake?"

There's screams outside, and George, pulling one of Skeppy's shirts, a blue tshirt, perks up nervously.

Before Bad can answer, there's an explosion down the road that leaves a ringing in their ears, and Skeppy gestures towards his cellar, the bunker concealed under it, and mouths "GO!" to Bad, who reluctantly complies as the other two open the door, peering out to see seemingly an army of dark purplish black, half-serpentine creatures, with unnervingly bright lilac eyes, a neon purple that matches with the familiar gaze of an enderman, flooding the streets from the left of the door.

Coming from the right were...grotesque things. They didn't seem quite alive, nor dead, not unlike zombies and zombified piglin, their distorted bodies lurching through the streets with speed that Skeppy would've preferred them to not have. He shuts the door behind himself and George, bolting it, and draws his sword. He'd been carrying it with him in case of an emergency- this counts as an emergency. 

George shifts uncomfortably, his arm itching and his head growing warm. He readies his sword, and they begin to struggle their way through the tide, George earning more ugly scratches marring his face and arms, Skeppy beating the creatures away with the rim of his shield and avoiding injury from their necrotizing claws. George's shield wasn't holding up- he tried to block an attack like Skeppy, but it only earned him another vicious scratch.

They push their way through the crowd back towards the houses, towards possible survivors, but by this time George is deathly pale- his eyes seem to be wandering and he looks, honest to goodness, horrible.

"Hello?" Skeppy shouts, swinging his sword at one of the serpentine creatures, "Is anyone still alive out here?!"

No answer reaches his ears except the sound of George collapsing to the ground. Skeppy looks over in horror, seeing the purple from the scratches leaking further into his friend's skin, his gaze glassy and blank. He reaches out to try touching him, testing for a pulse, but his skin is burning up, to an unnatural level.

_He's a goner,_ Skeppy's mind whispers, but he desperately refuses to accept it, even though he sees no breaths being taken, no rise and fall of George's chest.

He forces himself to try to think objectively. He needs to get out of here- he needs to- 

A scream splits the air, and Skeppy's heart almost stops in his chest right then and there.  
 _Bad!_

His mind moving on from grieving George, he throws himself back into the fray, towards his house.   
A tall figure clad in red, flowing robes is dragging Bad out, the young man battered and struggling violently against the grip on him, against the figure's iron hold on his wrists. Skeppy shouts wordlessly, cutting down another one of the shambling beings as he struggles to get through in time.

He can see other villagers huddled, wrists bound, held at arrowpoint by what look like piglin.   
They're placing obsidian, forming the frame of a portal.

Skeppy's desperation peaks as he sees Bad get smacked roughly, and then dragged while in shock towards the other captives, and his sword sends something's innards splashing onto his shirt.  
He has no time for horror or revulsion, bringing the blade down again, struggling. The crush of the swarm begins to push him backwards though, and despite his struggles, he ends up back in the square where he had left George- _George._

A figure wearing a mask is lifting the body, examining him, and then hefting him into a firm grip, carrying him-   
_Why would it take him away? He's dead, surely- he wasn't breathing!_

The swarming crowds begin to disperse as the masked figure turns, walking away dismissively. A purple light floods the area, a deep rumbling shaking the air.

Skeppy turns, the undead beings having begun to disperse, and his fear is confirmed. The portal is lit, and the prisoners are being pushed through, Bad still being held by the figure. He's not moving now- but Skeppy wastes no time, throwing himself back into battle with reckless abandon, almost suicidally slicing his way through the remainder, screaming Bad’s name as he lunges, trying to reach the portal before it's too late.

He gets so close. He can see the purple light enveloping Bad's body, his green eyes wide and full of fear as he mouths Skeppy's name. He might've said it as he's taken from this realm. Skeppy doesn't get to hear. The explosion that rocks the area, throwing him backwards as the portal is deactivated, fills his ears with a brutal ringing and nothing else.

His last thought as he hits his head on the stone path behind him was,  
 _If he had come with us, would he have been safe?_

And then pain shot through his head and his vision flickers out. Skeppy is granted merciful darkness, the pain fading with the thoughts of his taken friends.


	2. Chapter 2

His body is warm, too warm to be safe. He can feel himself swaying, and he looks up to see a horrific grinning face above him, bright blue eyes boring into him.  
He unashamedly, without hesitation, lets out a high pitched scream of absolute terror, struggling as best he can.

His movements are slow and sluggish, as though he's in slow motion, and when a blow connects with the thing carrying him, it's weak and pitiful.   
Sound comes from the being, as though it's trying to speak, but he sobs, struggling in fear. His world is hazy and dim, and he can barely tell what's happening- he's just terrified, and that's all he can confirm. The being leans down, and he cries softly, begging for someone to come help him, for someone to save him;  
And he hears a soft voice, seemingly coming from everywhere around him.

"Calm down, stop kicking. I promise you're going to be okay, we need to get the venom out of your body. I know you're scared. But it'll be okay."

The voice is so gentle and calm. And in his irrational, panicked state, it's all he needs, a sliver of reality leaking into his surroundings. He goes limp again in his captor's arms, his mind fading back into feverish dreams only half coherent.

* * *

Skeppy becomes aware of a dull throbbing everywhere in his body before he becomes aware of himself breathing or the warmth of the sun on his face. He groans weakly, and as everything comes back to him, he just stays laying down, shame flooding him.

He had told Bad to go there, to hide. He had said he'd be safe.  
George had fought with him, and yet when George seemed to need him most, Skeppy assumed he was dead and fled, leaving him to the tender mercy of whatever that thing was.  
He bites his lip, and reluctantly opens his eyes to see a tanned face framed by black hair looking down over him, a pair of dark blue eyes blinking curiously. They move back as he sits up.

They- he- is a young man with black, wayward hair partially held down by a white strip of fabric tied around his head. His black and white- seemingly two separate, white short sleeved and black long- shirts looking unseasonably warm in comparison to his simple sweatpants. Drinking in the sight of another living human, Skeppy takes a moment before asking groggily, 

"Who the actual fuck are you? Some kind of ninja from the forest I don't know about?"  
His rescuer holds up his hands in mock surrender, and says in an easygoing, level tone,

"Hold on there, you might want to turn down the hostility. After all you've been unconscious here for like five hundred hours and I've yet to kill you, so I'm probably not going to. The name's Sapnap, yours?"

Skeppy stares at him, almost sulking now, and has to admit this Sapnap is probably telling the truth. It had been night when the attack was initiated, and as he looks around, he can clearly see it's dawn at least. So he grudgingly replies,

"Skeppy. How'd you find this place? And were there any more survivors?"

Sapnap leans back, and shakes his head.

"I was passing by early this morning when I noticed smoke. I searched the place top to bottom and the only person I found was you- well, the only living one at least. Plenty of bodies," he says morbidly. Skeppy curses softly, and tries another angle,

"What about the portal frame? You saw it right? Was it intact?"

Sapnap shakes his head again,

"That bitch was blasted to the kingdoms come. All I could see left of it was shards of obsidian everywhere. You even had some stuck in you. I might not have gotten it all out."

Skeppy notices the makeshift bandaging on his arms and chest, and his heart aches for Bad a little more, remembering how many times his friend had patched him up after a reckless journey.  
Sapnap turns around to face the fire, turning something on a spit, and then reaching into his bag to offer Skeppy a small bag of berries.

"Here. You need to eat something and the fish isn't done yet. I already had breakfast."

Looking around the campsite, Skeppy finally registers the bedroll he's on, the backpack propped against the tree near them and the fire with fish spitted neatly on sticks around it, alongside the weapons laid down beside Sapnap.

He accepts the berries, and he asks, now curious,   
"When did you hunt?"  
It's met with a shrug,   
"You were out for a long time. I had plenty break time to hunt and cook, even gather those berries."

Now that he begins to eat something, Skeppy realizes he's starving, his stomach aching in reminder of his missed supper and the toll the kind of exertion he had experienced last night takes.

Last night.

He looks down in shame, and murmurs,  
"I lost two friends last night. One of them could be dead, I dunno, but I saw the other being taken through the portal. And fuck, I'm going to die getting him back if I need to. The Nether is no place for a person like him."

Sapnap eyes him uneasily,  
"The nether? You sure you don't mean the end?"

He shakes his head in reply to the boy's query.

"Look, I- the friend who was taken to the Nether? I love him, dearly. If he dies in there because I told him to hide in my bunker, because I wasn't there to protect him, if he dies BECAUSE I WASN'T STRONG ENOUGH, I couldn't live with the guilt."

He leans over, wincing in pain as he meets Sapnap's eyes,  
"I need to get him back, Sapnap. If that actually is your name or whatever. He's a damn angel and angels don't belong in hell."

Sapnap runs his gaze over the determined, battered man in front of him. His spine chills, but he nods,

"...I see your point. This angel of yours- is he your brother or something?"

"...or something," Skeppy mumbles. He doesn't know WHAT Bad is to him or what he really wants him to be. He just knows he would kill for his safety- and has before.   
What is Bad to him?  
His best friend. His soulmate. The man he's in love with. Someone dearer to him than the whole world.  
The person who saved his life ten times over.  
The person who he owes a debt that could never be repaid.

The man who's oblivious to his feelings. An angel. Someone too kind to exist, clearly.

"...I love him, a lot." Skeppy concludes, and Sapnap nods understandingly,  
"I got that much. Look, I'll go with you for this all- you're a wreck, plus traveling in pairs is safer- but you gotta promise you'll be resting a bit. I'll try to treat you as best I can, but-"

"There's medicine in my house," Skeppy says in a dead tone, hauling himself upright. "Or whatever is fuckin left of it."

He can't bring himself to be peppy and cheerful- in fact, as they get ready to go searching his house or its remains for medicine, Sapnap makes a joking remark relating to it,

"You'd think with a name like SKEPPY you'd be a little more bouncy or cheerful, but you look like you live in a morgue."  
Skeppy glares at him, and the younger man silences himself.

Surprisingly, his house isn't burnt to ash. The windows are blown out and the outer wall is a bit charred, and of course the door is torn from its hinges.

Skeppy steps inside, the air still and thick with the scent of brimstone. It feels like he's disturbing a tomb- the aura is solemn and eerie. His own home feels foreign, furniture upturned and the floorboards scratched and scored deeply. Bad didn't go without a significant fight; the sword he took is embedded in the floor. Skeppy finds himself searching the cellar and the bunker for any trace of him, finding scraps of his cloak from where it was caught and torn, and eventually finding his necklace, a simple gold pendant in the shape of a diamond, a red stone embedded in the center.

He holds it close, and then laces the chain around his own neck, searching the cellar for Bad's belt; it hadn't been with him when he was dragged into the portal, he realizes now, and it contains most of Bad's medical kit, which would be a valuable resource.   
It's under a shelf, thrown to the side, a crumpled sheet of paper near it.

Skeppy smoothes it out, and the writing scrawled over the surface stabs him in the heart.

Words, jumbled from terror and rushed in Bad's handwriting.

"Their leader is called Technoblade and I hear stuff about a fortress Skeppy don't get yourself killed trying to rescue me if you're reading this please I just want you to stay alive get help please"

The final e trails off as though he crumpled the paper as he wrote it, before he was captured. Skeppy is almost seeing red.  
He has a location. He has a name. He knows his enemy.

 _I'm coming Bad,_ he promises silently, folding the paper into a square and tucking it into his pocket, picking up the belt and making his way back into the upper house. Sapnap is carrying the rest of the medicine,

"Nice place you got here. Shame about the floor, though."  
Skeppy shoves him aside, and pulls Bad's sword out of the floor, prompting,

"Do you need two?-"  
"It's his," Skeppy bites out, "I have a name and a destination."

Sapnap's gaze drifts over the shelf, over Skeppy's photos, locking onto one of Bad and him.  
"Is he that one?" He points, and Skeppy nods.

"His name is Bad," he sighs, "And despite that ironic name, he's truly an angel unlike anyone else in this world."

Sapnap takes the photo down, examining it closely.  
"He's cute," he remarks, "Looks like a really nice guy."   
He replaces it on the shelf, examining the others now with interest until he finds one that seems to sate his curiosity.

"Are his eyes green?" He asks, "They look greenish."

Skeppy's mind fills with those eyes, wide with fear and reflecting the purple glow of the portal, and he nods, choking up.

"Bright green with a hint of teal. I've never seen anyone with eyes like his."  
Sapnap nods, and gestures to the door.

"We oughtta be going now. If we set out before nightfall we can make progress."

"Progress to where?" Skeppy asks, "I have obsidian. I could build a portal myself, we could go through and be hot on their tail."

Sapnap shakes his head,  
"We need help. I have some contacts in a city a few days east of this town, they can hook us up with better weapons, armor, and more importantly, mercenaries. Plenty of people despise the nether, if word gets out that it raided your town and took your boyfriend or whatever we'd have enough support to blow the whole place up."

Skeppy's eyes gleam,  
"As much as I hate delaying getting to Bad, I like your way of thinking, Sapnap. What do you get out of this though?"

Sapnap smiles slightly,   
"Carnage, of course. I'm one of those people who hates the nether. I'd prefer never to set foot in there, but if we're blowing things up, well...what can I say?"

Skeppy grins wolfishly, and agrees,  
"What can ya say?...except, perhaps, "fire in the hole" as that shit goes off."

It feel unnatural to swear without Bad's gentle reprimands, but for now he settles into it, embracing the anger.  
"And you're sure we'll be able to pick up enough people to blow this all up? And fight?"

Sapnap shrugs,  
"I'm sure of it. I know who to contact."

Skeppy's mind flares up in warning though; this is convenient. Too convenient. Sapnap might not be one of the attackers from either side as far as his physical form shows, but who's to say he isn't allied with one and leading Skeppy into a trap?

He weighs this for a moment, and then decides that overall?...it could be worse. If he's on guard and doesn't let Sapnap take him into any weird places where he might be ABLE to trap Skeppy...  
He already saved Skeppy's life once, probably. Or at least helped him. And that's more than nothing in his favor.

So Skeppy shelves his doubts for the time being. Better a chance to get Bad, laced with uncertainty, than having to fight an army on his own and risk dying or being captured before he can rescue him.

 _Stay alive, the last thing I want is for you to die trying to rescue me._  
His heart twists. God, he's not going to try to talk through his feelings for Bad right now, and certainly not with himself. That guy is a terrible listener.

He and Sapnap pack up, and Skeppy surveys the town for a moment, before his gaze locks on where George had collapsed. His goggles are still there, alongside his weapon.

Silently, without a word, he turns to the grass field and begins to gather cornflowers, their bright blue petals blending with his sweater. He bundles up as many as he felt right, and, conscious of Sapnap watching him, knelt down to nestle George's goggles amidst the flowers, impaling the sword into the ground as a marker.  
He bows his head.  
 _If you're alive...Sorry George. I should've stuck with you. If you're dead...dying...rest in peace, my friend._

A moment passes with nothing but the twitter of birds and the wind passing through. Then Sapnap asks,  
"Your friend?" Skeppy nods.

"George," he mumbles, "He's- he was, a good guy. He's almost for sure dead though, I don't know why that thing would've taken him. Maybe to eat?"

Sapnap kneels down as well,  
"What thing? Was he injured?"  
"There were these, serpentine beings with claws that caused necrosis. He got scratched and was rapidly succumbing to some sort of illness before he collapsed, without a pulse that I could locate, burning up, and not breathing. When I got pushed back, there was this- cloaked, masked figure lifting him up. It just walked away, not even acknowledging me. It just took him."

Sapnap's spiteful expression is obvious,   
"Probably the leader of the other side. Like, I can see there were two forces of troops, right? One with the Technoblade fellow, and one with the masked one."

Skeppy eyes him warily.  
"...when did I tell you the leader's name?" He asks, and Sapnap holds up his hands slightly,  
"Power of deduction. He's a well known military leader in the Nether, and he enjoys slaughtering whole towns or kidnapping them for labor. If your lovebug is alive, he's either being forced to do manual labor in the Nether....or being held captive to force him to cooperate- if he has special skills."

Skeppy's heart jumps, and he asks urgently,  
"Does medical skill qualify?" Sapnap nods,

"Probably. Not a lot of medics in the Nether, honestly. If he's good enough to be of use and outs his skill somehow, they'll probably toss him in a cell until he agrees to help them."

"You're oddly knowledgeable on this," Skeppy says suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Sapnap slightly, who laughs easily.

"You get that way when you have family and friends who are ex-prisoners of that place, y'know?"

Skeppy wants to accept that. He wants that to be all there is to this.  
But he can't, it all feels so off. Too perfect, too convenient, too helpful.  
He lapses into silence, standing up above George's marker, and turns away, heading towards the road that leads east.

"What do you REALLY get out of this?" He asks through gritted teeth, "What do you want of me, Sapnap? Why help me just to cause chaos if you have others willing to help?"

"Well, they need something to rally for," Sapnap drawls leisurely, following him, "Imagine, you're a jaded warrior with a grudge and the blade to back it up, but the place you need to go to get revenge is a terrifying wasteland of hellscape and lava, filled with hostiles. Along comes a friend of yours, leading a battered young guy who talks about how his angel, this person who he loves so dearly, was taken into this place you hate. Suddenly, there's a tangible goal aside from blowing the place up. It makes it easier to get my revenge on the place- plus, you'll owe me a favor afterwards. A big one. Always nice to have someone indebted to you."

He's slimy. That's the only way Skeppy can describe him. The smug look on his face, otherwise likable. He has his own goals and even though Skeppy doesn't like them, this is the only path he's really got.

Would he rather risk never seeing Bad again?  
He grunts an acknowledgement and keeps going,

"Are we going to travel by day and sleep by night?"  
"Probably from dawn till late dusk," Sapnap confirms, "Easier that way. Less trouble."

Skeppy fumbles in his belt pouch to check for his whetstone, and tests his sword edge,  
"I'm going to sharpen this once we bed down," he murmurs, a reminder to himself. Sapnap watches curiously, and then looks away, heading onwards.  
"...sounds like a plan," he remarks.


	3. Chapter 3

The path is relatively clear of dangers, clear of _trouble_. Skeppy almost wishes something would come so he could take out this burning discomfort in his mind on something real, do something VIOLENT.

They don't talk much. High noon arrives, and as the sun drifts lazily overhead, Sapnap prompts,  
"So, tell me about yourself. Who are you, exactly?"  
Skeppy laughs bitterly, and glances at him with a sardonic expression.

"I told you. Name's Skeppy, Bad means more to me than anything else in life, and I'm twenty-one. Not much else to my character, really."  
Sapnap rolls his eyes,  
"You're not a character in a bad vengeance novel. What are you interested in? Hobbies? How about things you're good at? Kiss your friends goodnight?"

This earns Sapnap a playful punch to the arm, and the exasperated response of,  
"You're so weird, S-Sna- _Snapmap_."

Sapnap looks less than pleased with the stuttered nickname that Skeppy promptly begins to giggle over, covering his mouth slightly to hide the goofy grin that splits his stony expression.

"Righhhhttt...you like making fun of people got it. Are you a prankster or something like that? You have that energy."

"Chaotic stupid energy? I get that a lot," Skeppy admits, reluctantly conceding that joking like this makes him feel better about their predicament. "I love pranking. George says they're not always the nicest pranks, and Bad agrees. I used to prank them both a lot, mostly Bad because he was so easy to get, but then I made him cry and as an apology I stopped doing big pranks with him. Little things. I put an endermite in his bathtub. I swapped all his cups around in the cupboard, that drove him crazy because I kept doing it and for weeks he couldn't catch me."

Sapnap nods as he makes his way along, arms crossed behind his head. His sword is held on his back in a sheath that looks somewhat inconvenient; at first Skeppy wonders how it would be drawn free. No doubt Sapnap knows how to use it though.

Though he glances at Skeppy, curious now,

"Did you say an endermite? How did you get your hands on one?"  
Skeppy shrugs,

"All it took was smashing around six or seven pearls in the tub for it to spawn. Like, they're not hard to get."

A look of horror briefly crosses Sapnap's face as he asks, now with more urgency in his tone,

"Ender pearls? Like, what you get from ki- killing endermen?"  
Skeppy looks at him oddly, his behavior mystifying.

"Yeah? The villagers had a lot. Our warrior patrols often tangled with the bastards. You got a personal attachment to them or something?"  
Sapnap opens his mouth and then shakes his head,

"I just, never really killed them. They don't do jack if you don't meet their eyes, after all. And they're running away after all, it would be mean."

"Running away?" Skeppy clambers over a large tree that had fallen over the overgrown trail. Nobody seems to have taken this way in some time, at least, nobody took the path. "From what, d'ya think?"

Sapnap shrugs,

"Isn't that what like, everyone knows? People who've gone to the End say there's a horrible dragon whose breath is like acid and burns your skin. I'd want to run away if I was an enderman."  
Skeppy ponders thoughtfully,

"I never heard that before. We're a pretty isolated town and we don't get that much traffic, honestly. A few years back the trade started to dry up, and when Bad's father died- shortly after my ninth birthday- nobody in the town really knew how to make a lot of the healing compounds he did, and so the shop went out of business and a lot of our trade just stopped now that we had no valuable healing potions and whatnot to sell. Nobody knows where his mother was during all that shit, in fact she kinda hit it and quit it. Weird to say that about a girl."

He leans down, checking a paw print in the dried mud. He lightly presses a finger to the dirt, and glances around for any more tracks,

"Wolf. I'd say it came through a day or so ago by the tracks, especially since it was raining the other day. Keep an ear out dude."  
Skeppy stands, and brushes off, continuing,

"Anyway, the point is we don't get a lot of news or rumors. We get urban legends and shit like that. Like all the things about the Nether, usually. "Oooooh, cut yourself on obsidian and you'll turn into a terrible monster because the Nether possesses you" type deal. Clearly that's a sham since I was peppered with the stuff and am still me."

Sapnap's interest in the conversation is piqued once more, and the two continue exchanging banter and information as they trek along. Skeppy finds the other's eagerness reluctantly endearing.

During their conversations, Skeppy learns three important details about Sapnap; he just turned twenty, he doesn't know his mother or father, and, perhaps most significantly, he knows how to make End crystals.  
The last is an odd one, but it sticks with Skeppy, and he finds himself pondering it all the way to their next campsite.

* * *

He's burning. He's burning, there's fire all over his body. He flails and struggles against nothing, blankets and sheets alike being torn away from the mattress in his struggles.  
Something cold presses to his forehead and he freezes, pressing into it with relief and yet discomfort.

"Here, drink." The soft voice from before orders, pressing something to his parched lips, and he obeys, bitter liquid filling his mouth. He sputters, and the voice urges,

"Swallow. It'll help bring your fever down and purge the venom."  
The coldness is wiped over his brow, and he leans into it blissfully, making a face as he gulps down the liquid, allowing the person to tip more into his mouth.

His eyes are closed. He knows what he's going to see if he opens them; yet he does it anyway.  
The grin and its dot eyes stare into him, and he whimpers, terror rapidly clenching his throat shut.

"Go away," he rasps in a soft, pleading tone, "I don't wanna die yet, I don't-"  
It doesn't occur to him that the entity is who is wiping his brow tenderly with the cool cloth or carefully making him drink the liquid. They're separate to him, a fearsome creature from another place and the caretaker who is trying to rescue him from this hellish world he's fallen into.

The voice reassures him,

"You're not going to die. I'm not going to let you die, okay? Just lay down. I'll be back soon with some food for you, and more antidote."  
The cloth is pulled away, and he whines softly, but listens, allowing himself to be tucked back in. He can hear a murmured conversation that he barely registers,

"Is keeping him under the blankets a good idea?"

"Heat helps purge the venom. That's why it triggers such a violent fever, the body knows that. As long as we don't let his temperature get dangerously high in between doses, it should be alright."  
He closes his eyes, and his hold slips away again.

He barely even knows who he is.

* * *

They arrive at their campsite, which turns out to be a dry and sandy gully of sorts near a stream. Skeppy checks the depth of it, making sure no drowned zombies will crawl out of it and ambush them. Sapnap watches him checking the area, and offers,

"We could take watches. If you take first watch, I'll take second, sound good?"

Skeppy eyes him now. He may have learned more about his companion on this journey so far, but he's still not optimistic about Sapnap's alliance; he seems to be interested in helping Skeppy solely for his own interests- namely, chaos, arson, and carnage. There seems to be something unsaid about all that, but Skeppy didn't pursue it. If Sapnap stays on his side, Skeppy isn't going to argue with him over some possibly trivial information that could easily just be him explaining his lust for vengeance or something.

 _Not worth losing an ally over,_ Skeppy had decided when it first came up.

Now, he wipes off his hands on his pants and looks up at him, pondering,

"Swear to god you're not going to stab me in my sleep or drink my blood or anything creepy as fuck like that?"  
Sapnap dramatically puts a hand over his heart,

"I, Sapnap, SOLEMNLY swear not to do anything creepy to you while you are sleeping. Just don't do anything to me while I'm asleep."

Skeppy rolls his eyes,

"Deal. No funny business." The two unroll their bedrolls and Sapnap sets up a fire while Skeppy scouts the immediate area for anything they could possibly eat without massive butchering.

He shoots a rabbit, and though he feels a bit bad about it, brings it back to the campfire, setting about skinning it and preparing it to be cooked.  
Sapnap watches avidly, and even pokes the bloody meat a few times.

"Can you teach me?" He asks abruptly, and Skeppy nearly slices open his finger.

"Teach you what? How to skin a rabbit? How to butcher an animal?" He cocks a brow at the raven-haired man, who shrugs,

"Yeah. I mainly gathered plants and stuff while I was travelling. I dunno how to butcher meat and I wasn't going to eat it raw."  
Skeppy sighs, and informs him bluntly,

"You are a rabbit if you traveled for weeks and didn't eat any meat at all. You got that, Sapnap? Rabbit. Now, I'll show you, ignoring my misgivings about teaching you how to disassemble a living creature."

He begins to talk Sapnap through what he has done and is doing, with the other nodding and watching along, until he's cooking the meat and Sapnap asks,

"Why not something bigger then?"

"Because there's two of us, we couldn't have eaten it all," a sarcastic eye roll, "Well, I couldn't. You over there might be meat deficient by this point so hell if I'd know."  
Sapnap chortles, and punches him lightly,

"Shut the fuck up, I'm fine. How about you tell me more about Bad if you're gonna mock me for not knowing how hunting and butchering works, huh Skeppy?"  
Skeppy punches him this time, turning the meat so the other side starts to cook as well,

"Well, he'd feel sorry for this rabbit here. But also, he knows how to throw knives and even though I like to protect him, he's a capable fighter in his own right. I'm surprised he didn't take off that Technobitch's hand."  
Sapnap glances around furtively, and murmurs,

"Quiet with the names Skeppy. Hatred calls to evil." Then, as though to lessen the sincerity, "And you're sounding like a massive douche so like yeah."  
Skeppy looks up from the fire to eye him suspiciously, before continuing,

"He's a herbalist, a medic. He likes to help people and see them smile and his favorite flowers are those cornflowers. Uhhhh....he was born in the spring and doesn't like dark chocolate. Or coconut."  
He shrugs,  
  
"What do you really want to know? I've known him since I was thirteen."

"...is he mentally and physically resilient?" Sapnap's tone becomes more concerned, and Skeppy swallows.

"...what a weird fucking question. Mentally? He's a really sensitive person but I think he can pull past things for a bit even though he cries in the moment. Physically?...he's decently strong, I guess. Never tested that."  
Sapnap doesn't visibly react. He seems to calculate in his mind,

"...maybe three weeks. Probably less. We should get to sleep and soon."  
He glances at the meat, and Skeppy sighs,

"Nearly done. What the hell is up with that creepy "three weeks"?"

"I'm guessing that's how long we have to rescue him, if we want him intact. Which we do. You don't want him to be all stark raving nutters, d'ya?"  
Skeppy shakes his head and pulls the meat from the fire,

"...not really. I'd like to get him back unscathed but I know that's lowkey impossible."

"If by lowkey impossible you mean fucking unobtainable, you are absolutely, one hundred fucking percent, correct. Nobody leaves the Nether unscathed, let alone a dungeon. I'm just hoping we get him out of there before he's a gibbering mess of a person."

Skeppy shoves the meat towards Sapnap, dumping some salt on it,

"It's not much. Eat. And don't," he's biting back tears as he growls this, "bring this up again. Got it?"  
Sapnap nods, watching his reaction. He begins to eat, and Skeppy barely forces his down, his appetite lost.  
The thought of Bad chained up somewhere, being possibly tortured to insanity makes him physically ill- and angry. Incredibly angry.  
It just- it wasn't fair. Sure, this world isn't fair...but why Bad? Couldn't he have taken his place?

 _No. If you had been taken,_ Skeppy's mind whispers, _HE would've come searching for you and he would've probably had more mercy than you will._

Mercy that got him nowhere in the last fight they participated in, but damn would Skeppy love to never think about that fight or its consequences.  
He sips from his water bottle, and Sapnap yawns,

"I'm going to pass out now. Good with ya?"  
Skeppy nods tersely. No words right now, as he begins to survey the terrain, standing and prowling around their campsite while Sapnap easily drops off to sleep. He doesn't see much- deer prancing by, the occasional hostile that he stabs to ash, rabbits, and around midnight, rustling in the bushes that when examined proves to be a small fox...or, he assumes it was just the fox. It was awfully loud and perhaps it was paranoia to think it was a person.

Finally, he wakes up Sapnap, who grumbles at him.

"Your watch," he says quietly, "It's been pretty quiet but..."  
He tucks in and Sapnap takes up the patrol, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

* * *

" _Is he to be trusted?"_

_He can hear a voice somewhere, but it's watery and indistinct as he sits up._

_No, he's not sitting up, he's chained up. Hands above his head, and- no, BAD is chained up with his hands manacled above his head._

_He's battered, staring at his knees while breathing heavily. His glasses are missing and his eyes- his beautiful, kind eyes -are full of tears._

_"_ _I think so."  
  
_ _For a moment, Bad wrenches against the restraints. To no avail. He seems intact- mentally and physically. Preserving his strength..._

_"_ _He's kinda suspicious though."_

_"What other choice do we have?"_

_Skeppy waves slightly, whispering gently to the Bad in his dream,_

_"I'm coming, don't worry."  
_ _Bad raises his head for an instant and_ -

* * *

Skeppy is awake, abruptly, in a cold sweat. Sapnap is reeling back and Skeppy's face hurts-

"YOU SLAMMED YOUR STUPID FUCKIN FACE INTO ME!!"

"I'm sorry?" Skeppy apologizes uncertainly, "I think I- I had a nightmare or something. Sorry about your face. It wasn't on purpose."  
Sapnap grumbles.

"Oh it wasn't on puuuurrrrpose," he rolls his eyes, "Because it hurts so much less when it's an accident and because I think you INTENTIONALLY headbutted me like a fucking mountain goat."

Skeppy yawns, ignoring him momentarily as he ponders his dream. It felt...real, but also distant, and fake. There's no way to know. He just has to hope it's an accurate representation of how Bad is holding up; battered but hanging in there. He must've fought a good portion of the way. A small flicker of pride lights in his chest; he's proud of Bad for fighting.

"-about?" Sapnap pauses, having finally realized he was being ignored, and waves his hand in Skeppy's face, "Earth to Skeppy! What was your nightmare about?"  
Skeppy vaguely answers,

"...Think I saw Bad and that it wasn't like, a dream but real? But also not, it's fucky. Just hoping it's true and he's okay."  
Sapnap bounces on the balls of his feet, adjusting his headband.

"Sounds uncool. Dreams that seem uncomfortably real are not my favorite. So! Roll up your shit, we're going to eat on the road. I cooked!"  
Skeppy eyes the meat he now sees on the fire doubtfully.

"...what animal is that, how did you kill it and how fast did you butcher it?"  
Sapnap rolls his eyes and answers,

"Rabbit again, slingshot, stone to the head, and I dragged it back here in like, fifteen minutes and then took MAYBE thirty to fully get it apart."  
Skeppy doubts this, but...food is food. And it seems seasoned; his stomach grumbles.

"...I'll take it. If I drop dead from food poisoning you better bury me twelve feet under so no zombie gets at my body."

"Six feet is plenty you buzzkill," Sapnap dismisses, and they pack up and begin to set off on their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be updating weekly, every sunday or monday I hope! So keep your eyes open and thank you so much for the support so far <3!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the ghost notification! The chapters posted out of order.

The birds are twittering and the early morning light reflects off the dewy grass and leaves. Skeppy takes a deep breath of the damp air, and exhales slowly,  
  
"Here we go, day two. You're positive this is the way to the city?" Sapnap nods.

"Of course. I have a great sense of direction, and," he flourishes dramatically as he pulls out a sheet of paper, "I've got one of those nifty enchanted maps that shows your location."  
He spreads it, letting Skeppy examine it. He can see the dot symbolizing Sapnap and the one symbolizing him- and yes, their path would take them to the city.

"...well what do you know? You aren't pulling shit out of a hat."  
Skeppy leans back, and admits,

"Okay, so maybe you do know where we're going. But yeah, let's start."  
  
They hit the trail, and this time it's Skeppy who fills the air with tentative chatter, while Sapnap listens. The day is cool, colder than Skeppy is used to for this time of year, but by midday it becomes unbearably warm and the two find themselves faced with a dilemma.

"We should stop and swim so we can travel further without getting heat stroke," Sapnap volunteers. Skeppy looks at him like he's gone mad.

"Stop and swim? Heat stroke?? Sapnap do you have any clue how this area works? Swimming won't save us from getting heat stroke it's just going to make us wet and sticky."

"Water cools down your body!" Sapnap pipes, eyeing a nearby creek; a large one too, two or three feet across and at least over a foot deep. "So surely it would cool us down, then evaporate?"  
Skeppy searches for an argument, really not feeling the swimming thing, but sighs and concedes.

"You're probably right. I don't want to get all soaked though so I won't-"  
He has all of three seconds to say that before Sapnap ditches his bag, his weapon, his shoes and socks, and dives into it. Not literally; he actually ungracefully plunges in with a sigh.

"-...come into the water," Skeppy finishes sheepishly. He watches his companion paddle around in the shallow water for few minutes, before Sapnap cups his hands and waddles over to Skeppy to throw his pitiful handful of water at him,

"You're gonna get so over...hot, in that sweater!! Ditch it and come take a dip bro," he encourages, and Skeppy shakes wet hair out of his eyes.

"No thank you."

"Your loss! Enjoy the heat!" Sapnap sends a small splatter of water Skeppy's way and then keeps swimming.  
Skeppy realizes he's not as playful as usual, and the thought momentarily depresses him; as though taking Bad took away a whole portion of who he usually is.  
But he brushes it off when he's hit in the face with more water, thinking,

_Sapnap is mischievous enough for six children._

* * *

He's laying in bed still. Someone is stroking his hair and whispering to him, but he's afraid to open his eyes. The burning is going away, but he doesn't know if it's safe or not.

"Hey, are you awake?" The soft voice asks him. They're all alone. He can't hear any other people, so he nods. "Open your eyes, I need to see if you're still out of it."  
Reluctantly, he listens to the voice, and peeps open one, then the other. He's looking up at a young man like himself.

He seems relieved. His hair is a lightish color, reminiscent of dried leaves and their transparent, worn away state. At least, that's what he thinks of seeing it. He reaches up slowly to touch it, and the other laughs softly, a chuckle that devolves into a gentle,

"What's your name? Since you don't seem to be freaking your shit on me this time."  
He smiles blissfully at the sensation of the soft strands going past his fingers, and murmurs his name. The man tilts his head,

"What?"

"George, my name is George."

He feels like he just divulged a deep secret, and a panicked question comes to mind; what if the superstition is true?  
The man leans down a little so George can reach easier, letting him stroke his hair,

"George, huh?"  
Hearing him say his name in that calm voice sounds so personal. So intimate. And maybe he never realized it because everyone in the village knew each other, but god, giving up his name like this feels uncomfortable.

"...that's your real name, isn't it? You still seem a little delirious."

He leans down and whispers a name to George, before telling him softly,

"You can call me Dream if you forget that one. Oh? George? Are you?-"  
George finds his temperature rising again and he clings to Dream, begging quietly in a hoarse voice,

"Don't let it come back please, the- that thing, with the weird smiley face, it just stared at me and I-"  
Dream suddenly seems to put things together, and carefully lays down next to George, allowing the other to cling to him in his delirious panic,

"It's okay," he murmurs, and mimics the petting George had done to him earlier, "I'll get the medicine sent up soon. You poor thing..."

George drifts into an unrestful sleep filled with Dream's soft voice and a prickle up his spine every time he's addressed by name.

* * *

"You're an ASSHOLE," Skeppy grouches at Sapnap, struggling to cut himself out of the hunting snare he's caught in, "This is for animals, not me, why the hell did you intentionally get me stuck in it?"

He's been spending the better part of an hour trying to show Sapnap how to set snares and traps, and so far all it's gotten him is caught by the ankle and slammed into the ground because his leg was yanked a measly foot into the air.

"You didn't even set it at the right height to catch rabbits," he bemoans, finally freeing himself, "You set it SPECIFICALLY to cause me trouble."  
Sapnap cackles, and replies,

"Fucking WORTH IT." Skeppy wacks him,

"Well, regardless. We should be strategic, usually snares are up for a few days before they get anything, so we need to try setting them in places that seem frequented. That way we stand a better chance of catching something overnight, y'know?"  
Sapnap nods slowly, understanding.

"Yeah, I see what you're saying. Hey, actually, are there deer traps?"

"Yes, but I don't really have the time or materials, nor knowledge of this area, to set one up."  
He gestures around them,

"To set up snares you have to have an IDEA of where things walk. Where they gather, flock, run. That way you know where they'll be and how likely it is to catch one. I know shit about this area, Sapnap. We don't go this far from the town usually. So I can hazard a guess at where rabbits or deer might pass through, but it's far more convenient and less taxing to set a trap for a rabbit than a deer. Plus, with a rabbit you can set up an instant kill trap. Deer are...not as easy."

Sapnap is mentally taking notes, it's clear. While Skeppy showed him how to shoot a bow and how to set traps, and other practical hunting knowledge, Sapnap taught him how to use his sling, and seasoning, and by the time the two have a meal for the night, it's pretty decently cooked and butchered to Skeppy's satisfaction and peace of mind.

"...I didn't even know there were pheasants up here," Skeppy admits, munching on their meal, "I'd never seen any back home and we can't have traveled more than six miles...weird."

Sapnap shrugs,

"There's a lot of shit you don't see at first. Like did you see all those neat clearings on the way with the mossy logs? Some legends say they're fairy kingdoms. Others say the animals dig under them and form vast burrows. It's all pretty neat stuff, honestly. I don't believe much superstition, except the name thing obviously, though so I don't put much stock in the concept of a fairy kingdom."

Skeppy lapses into silence. He eyes a nearby log that matches the description Sapnap gave with renewed...interest? Concern? He's eyeing it for sure.  
The two banter a bit more until it's time to sleep, and by the time Sapnap goes to sleep, Skeppy has divulged three important things about himself; he's turning twenty-one, he's an orphan, and Bad was his first best friend and the only one aside from his parents to know his name.  
  
Skeppy stares up at the stares, musing over it all.

An odd stroke of fate, that he and Sapnap met when they did. Whatever brought him there was probably a blessing, Skeppy concedes, rubbing his sore ankle in amusement.  
He's a kid having fun still, and in a way, it's amusing even to be the butt of a joke.  
Skeppy hears something in the bushes and turns around, staring in its direction. Nothing moves. A nighthawk calls, and he waits, relaxing, pretending to look away. The rustling resumes a little, and he watches out of the corner of his eye before standing up and moving over to check.

Again, he finds a young fox in the bush. It let out a pitiful whine, and he softens. He offers it a scrap from their dinner and it accepts it, running away into the night.

"Must've been following for our food," Skeppy murmurs, heading back to the fire.  
No more noise, and in fact few mobs that night.

Midnight comes and passes without incident, and he rouses Sapnap around one, this time void of the grumbling.  
He lays down and closes his eyes.

* * *

_"You're being reckless guys."_

_"He fed Fundy, we used him as a distraction!"_

_"Yeah but it's suspicious as fuck."_

_"Ay, fuck you too N-"_

_The voices dissolve, and Skeppy finds himself staring at Bad again. His condition hasn't changed much, he just looks haggard- but it doesn't last long.  
_ _The next vision he sees is George laying on a white bed in a purple room, cuddled close to a man who seems to be the cloaked figure who carried him off._

_"You're going to need something to call yourself other than your true name," he says to George, "How about...NotFound? A nice little touch of irony?"_

_George weakly replies,_

_"That sounds good Dream..."_

_He rests his head on the other's shoulder, clearly sick or something similar, and Skeppy nearly chokes up, and whispers a despairing,_

_"George..."  
_ _But soon, he's awakening, and he hasn't learned anything about Bad._

* * *

Skeppy snaps awake, minus beating in Sapnap's face with his skull, and hears a chipper,

"Bitching Beauty awakens! Come here, see what I made idiot, you slept till like three hours before noon. And you were talking in your sleep."  
Skeppy sits up with groan, and looks to Sapnap, who is cheerfully offering out what looks like a plate of salad and meat.

"...is that salad." Skeppy asks bluntly, his eyes still gummy and his throat tight.

"Hell yeah! I found a patch of edible leaves and some of the only easy to identify edible mushrooms, AND berries! Stuff your face, it's gourmet," he jokes, and Skeppy takes the plate disbelievingly,

"...is that rabbit or?"

"Uhh, rabbit! And...squirrel." He's now sheepish and Skeppy nearly chokes on his first mouthful laughing.

"YOU COOKED UP A SQUIRREL?"

"TWO," Sapnap admits, embarrassed by how Skeppy is laughing at him, "COME ON LAUGH LATER EAT YOUR SQUIRREL ASS."  
Skeppy stuck out his tongue after swallowing and continues to eat. It's pretty good, he's gotta admit. Sapnap is surprisingly good at cooking.

"So what was your dream about this time?" He asks casually, lounging with his plate as he eyes Skeppy, who shrugs.

"...stuff. Bad didn't seem worse, but- I saw George! He seems to be alive, if sick...was cuddling some dude, I guess the guy who snatched him wasn't gonna eat him after all? They seemed comfortable even though George was delirious."  
Skeppy leaves out the bit about "Fundy" whomever that could be, assuming it was a true blue dream. Sapnap leans forward,

"Who was the guy who snatched your friend then? Any names?"

"Uh...George called him Dream. Pretentious chosen name not gonna lie."  
Sapnap taps his chin,

"Did he have a mask with a smiley face on it?"

Something about the way he says it sends a chill down Skeppy's spine and he decides to withhold that detail, since whoever the Dream guy was, he saved George and they seemed to be getting along okay.

"...not that I could see, nah. Seemed like George was all over him though, delirious gay snuggling is a zero out of ten from his wingman."

It's a weak joke as he finished up, getting ready to hit the road again.

"Why did you ask about the mask?"

Sapnap twirls a leaf on his plate, and says, seemingly nonplussed,

"...Because the tyrant ruling the End is supposed to be chosen named Dream. Just wondering if it was the same guy."  
  
"How do you KNOW this shit?" Skeppy asks incredulously, and Sapnap shrugs,

"Information travels. Get in the right grapevine and you can buy just about any info especially about people...lost people, found people, stolen people, famous people, people who've gone to hell and back, people who've fought dragons and come back barely intact. People with wings. People others want dead."  
His tone is flat, and Skeppy again feels the thrill of unease.

He had begun to think his misgivings regarding Sapnap were paranoia, but god he isn't helping right now. Sapnap though, sees how tense he is, and punches him lightly,

"I'm pissing around dude. I just asked one of the people who went to the End, apparently it's common info there."  
Skeppy doesn't relax, though he wants to. He wants it to be the much less sinister sounding explanation, but the sinister one just seems more truthful.  
He quietly stands up, and tells Sapnap,

"How ever you get information notwithstanding, let's get going. And if you see that little fox that I fed the other night, give it a scrap okay? Thing looks a bit scrawny."  
Sapnap raises a brow,

"You fed a fox?"

"Yeah. It followed us for two nights, I saw it both times, and I fed it last night. I think it saw us getting food and began to follow us for scraps. I don't mind the company. Foxes are cute."

"They scream bloody murder," Sapnap jokes, and the two have cleaned up the camp.

"Let's go, then."

* * *

The air is hot and thick, the scent and hell, TASTE, of brimstone and ash filling his lungs and mouth.  
Bad coughs dryly, and asks again,

"May I have some water, please? I think I'm starting to suffer dehydration."  
A piglin standing guard glances at him, almost sympathetically, and then looks around nervously, before stepping into the cell and tipping a bottle to the captive human's lips.  
  
It grunts something, but Bad can't understand it, instead eagerly accepting the water that soothes the parched skin of his lips and cools down his throat.  
Eventually the guard takes its water back, and grunts something questioningly. Bad says gratefully,

"Thank you. I'm better now. I'll remember this, mister pig."  
The piglin seems pleasantly surprised, and steps back outside the cell, resuming guard duty.  
Bad stares up through the grate, watching a magma cube squelch overhead, dripping its molten slime through the bars. It lands near him, solidifying, though some lands on his boot and burns away at it.

He kicks slightly, rubbing the burning against the ground to put it out.  
The past two nights he felt his loneliness cease, and someone's familiar presence linger in the cell with him...but it was almost certainly yearning, wishful thinking, and hallucinations brought on by the heat. The piglin glances in again, and Bad remembers,

"Hey...you like gold things, right?" The piglin's white eyes twinkle, and it nods excitedly, "If you can bring me food and water since nobody else is...there's a gold watch in my left pocket. You can have it, in exchange for that. Sound like a deal, mister pig?"  
The piglin hesitates, glancing down the hall, in both directions, up, and then back in, and it slips into the cell, sliding its hand into Bad's pocket as directed.

Bad would've...preferred not to give up the pocket watch, as it was a present from his father, but he knew food and water was more important.

"Take good care of it, alright? It's got some sentimental value to it," he says quietly, and the piglin nods, understanding.  
He watches as it takes a moment, then gives up with a grunt, pointing to Bad's mouth, and then mimicking a chopping motion as though preparing food, and grunts out something similar to "soon".  
Bad nods. He knows he probably is going to get the piglin in trouble, and he feels bad, but he needs to eat.

"Alright."  
The piglin leaves again, this time to patrol the halls.  
  
Bad is alone once again.


	5. Chapter 5

Dusk arrives, and Skeppy looks to the horizon, squinting,

"Sapnap, what do you see over there?" He asks, questioning what he makes out. Sapnap clambers up to the top of the hill,

"I see a storm cloud, and the outline of the city in the distance. We probably can make it in a few more days! That storm looks nasty though, and it," he licks his finger and sticks it up, "It's being blown this way, I think. Sucks to suck, I guess."  
Skeppy scans the area, and decides,

"We should set up camp under the trees, or see if we can rig up a shelter or something. Got any water resistant things in your bag? A tarp, maybe? We could try building a small shelter or something but I'm not sure it would be like, a great use of our time..."  
Sapnap shakes his head nervously,

"A shelter sounds great actually. Give me your axe, we can drag some branches over to that clearing a bit back and prop them up against each other...then like? Put leaves and grass on top?"

"That...won't really keep the rain out, but we could probably have a shelter rigged up by nightfall." Skeppy sighs, and hands over his axe, "Get like, thicker branches. We can make a lean-to near one of the hills, use like a crisscross of thinner branches to hold up leaves and grass in a slightly more waterproof hold. I'll handle the smaller ones, we need like, four or five large ones."  
Sapnap nods, and takes off to work on acquiring the branches, and Skeppy begins to gather smaller, long sticks that can be woven into a sort of protection. He finds the best ones seem to be willow branches, and gathers as many as he can carry, hauling them over to the side of a hill, where he then begins to cut the grass down around where they'd be sleeping and have the fire. He's almost cut down the area, bundling up the grass for later use, when Sapnap drags what looks like half a tree out of the forest. Skeppy groans, but jogs over to help him carry it the rest of the way.

"Sapnap this is huge!" He sighs in impressed exasperation, and Sapnap beams,

"I know right?! I'm surprised I got it this far!"

They drag it over and Skeppy specifies this time,

"Now, three of the rest are going to be lengthwise supports, so see how large this area is?" Sapnap nods, "Keep that in mind. The others...we might need four, I'll come with you if it seems like it...are going to be vertical supports. So mind our heights when doing that."

"Don't you mean mind MY height?" Sapnap teases, tiptoeing up to emphasize his three or four extra inches. Skeppy glares at him.

"OUR. Heights." Sapnap cackles and jogs off, leaving Skeppy to begin mapping out the campsite, setting up a fire pit and digging it out enough. He sets it far enough out that it won't accidentally catch their shelter once it's finished, but not far enough that it will be in the rain.

Speaking of...

  
He looks up, the sky darkening ominously. The grass is cool against his hands as he scrambles up the hill, feeling the heat that had soaked into the dirt now rising out into the chilled air.  
As Skeppy surveys the area again, the clouds are closer, and a wind teases through, sending his hair in every direction. He curses quietly and slides back down, jogging off to find Sapnap.  
He finds him now dragging three significantly smaller branches, and without explaining, takes one from him.

"Is it closing in?" Sapnap asks, and Skeppy nods with a groan,

"Yeah. We gotta hurry or it's gonna be all wet under the roof too."  
They drag the branches over, and Skeppy reviews each one,

"We might be able to get away without lengthwise supports," he murmurs, taking the axe and splitting a careful notch into the ends of two branches. He rolls the large one up against the hill,

"Help me get the supports under," he orders, and Sapnap realizes what to do, grabbing the other notched branch and propping it under the big log. Now with that held up, they step back, surveying it,

"That's one step down," Skeppy grins, "I'll get the rest. Gather leaves and stuff that looks waterproof so we can layer the roof as much as possible."  
  
Sapnap grins, and gives a thumbs up as Skeppy jogs away into the woods.  
He feels...happy? Somehow this task is challenging him, and rising to the challenge satisfies something in him.  
And as he works, he feels a warmth, a kinship blossoming towards Sapnap. He might be mysterious, and annoying, but...Skeppy could grow to call him a friend, he thinks.

They mesh well, and despite Skeppy's lethargy after the raid, their personalities aren't that distant. Or well, he'd like to think.  
The winds are stronger now, and he begins hauling his finds from the woods, greeted by Sapnap. They share a look, a grin, as they set up their shelter piece by piece, rolling and hefting branches into place.

"It looks like it's actually, a shelter in progress," Sapnap opines in astonishment, and Skeppy laughs, wiping off his brow,

"Hell yeah! Okay, let's take these..."  
He frowns at the branches he had gathered, realizing how short they seem. Sapnap volunteers,

"Here, I gathered some longer ones while you were getting the big ones."  
He points to a bundle of branches near Skeppy's original one, and Skeppy feels a small bubble rise in his chest; pride? Is he... _proud_ , of Sapnap?  
He doesn't dwell on it, ruffling the other's jet hair and praising,

"Good on you, Sap."  
His tone is warmer than before, and Sapnap brushes his hair back into place, looking a little at the ground.

"It was nothing," he replies. Skeppy laughs in amusement at the other's bashfulness(?) and begins to lay the branches over the roof, forming a mat that he quickly weaves the other branches through; Sapnap catches on, and the two are soon weaving the willow branches into almost a net over the area. It's tedious, but they finish the first layer with matched grins of pride and excitement,

"Now for the leaves and grass!" Sapnap cheers, and he dives practically headlong for his gatherings, which are mostly very large leaves (dock leaves, skunk cabbage, so on...) and begins to lay them on the roof, carefully so there's minimal cracks for water to get through.  
Skeppy can't help but be infected by the other's enthusiasm as he joins in with layering the leaves, hoping it'll be-

"Shit, we're going to need to put rocks on the corners so it doesn't take off once we get the last layer," he realizes, and Sapnap, his headband's ends whipping around them in the wind, laughs and teases,

"And rocks are so hard to find!"

Skeppy feels heat rise to his cheeks, and is glad he doesn't go as red as others he knows.  
Of course they needed rocks, of course they were easy to find. Stupid Skeppy.  
They finish laying down the leaves and grass (which was harder since it kept trying to pry away from them) and began to weave the second layer of branches to hold down the leaves.

"Do you think this will even work?!" Skeppy asks finally, and Sapnap jokes,

"If it doesn't we just gonna get a bit wet!! Don't worry, I'm having fun anyway!"

Fun. The word catches Skeppy off guard and he realizes that yes- this is fun. They weigh it down with rocks, and crawl under, giggling like two kids in a fort.

"It's so going to leak," Sapnap laughs, and Skeppy nods with a breathless snicker.

"We're going to only avoid a tiny bit of water, it's going to be so stupid," He flops back, staring up, "At least it won't collapse, I made sure of it..."  
Sapnap rolls out their bedrolls near the back.

"We could try to build a windward wall so the fire won't get blown out," he suggests, and Skeppy points out,

"But I set this up so the hill is facing windward, it shouldn't blow out." Sapnap nods, opening his mouth slightly in a look of 'oooohhh!'. They pile on the kindling, waiting with bated breath for the rain to start falling, for their shelter to make it or break it.  
The fire is started, they're sitting next to each other, huddled near it...and Skeppy sees the rain start. They can hear it pattering on the roof, and they're dry.  
Sapnap shouts triumphantly and Skeppy whoops, the two of them collapsing back onto their bedrolls with joyous laughter. Their hour or two of work had paid off and they're secure in the shelter.

It's special, in a weird way; they've made this together, they've built this for themselves.

"Let's not do watches tonight," Skeppy yawns, glancing over at Sapnap, who nods.

"Yeah, I'm pretty wiped man. I don't think I'd wake up if I fell asleep."  
They nestle into their bedrolls, both sleepy and drained from the exertions of the day.  
Skeppy swears he hears a murmured "gnight" from the other, but he's out like a light.

* * *

_"Nick? Nick? He's asleep...fuck, we're in a right mess aren't we?"_

_"Should we just stay here until it stops? If we don't wake up either of them..."_

_"Fundy is going to raise hell if we leave him out there."_

  
_Skeppy's eyes open. He finds himself back in Bad's cell, only to hear him chattering cheerfully._

_"Mister pig, do you know any English? How to speak it? I could teach you if you don't! I'm sure you'd be a quick learner."  
_ _The piglin shakes its head, and Bad sighs, smiling,_

 _"Well, thank you for being a good guard and a good companion anyway...I'm sure I'd go bonkers in here all...a...l...one?"  
_ _He looks up, to where Skeppy is, and a desperate urge tells him to get closer, let him know that Skeppy is there- so he does, kneeling beside him and kissing his forehead,_

_"I'm coming Bad, okay? I'm coming and I'll get you out of here. We can go make a new home together, find George," he promises, knowing he won't be heard, but a wide smile spreads across Bad's face, and he whispers gently,_

_"I feel like he's here." Skeppy's heart twists painfully, tugging as he whispers,_

_"Da-"_

* * *

  
He jerks awake abruptly. Something warm is pressed against him, and after a minute or two he realizes it's Sapnap, his arm slung over Skeppy's chest. He glances over his shoulder at the other's sleeping face, and a weary smile curves across his face.

"Snuggly one, huh?" He murmurs, and settles back down. "Can't say I mind."  
The extra body heat isn't a curse with the chilly winds and rain, after all. But he lays awake for a while longer, and he realizes it's more than that.  
He doesn't feel alone. He feels there's someone here who will fight for him, with him, when he's in danger.

There's someone he can depend on.

He quietly snorts at the absurdity. He's known Sapnap for what, four days? He doesn't even know what lies he might've told.  
...Yet?...He smiles and closes his eyes.  
And yet, Sapnap feels safe. He feels like home, reminds Skeppy of George, of the nights the three of them spent out hunting.

 _It's so damn cheesy.  
_ He's drifting off again soon, into dreamless sleep where he stays firmly in his body. Sleep where he sees nobody and knows nothing of their fate.  
It's a little relieving.  
  
"Peehead!!" Skeppy groans and finally awakens, squinting at Sapnap,

"What is it dork? Why are you calling me that??"  
Sapnap, leaning over him and shaking him awake, says with delighted urgency,

"There's a caravan! It's heading down from the other road we passed yesterday, it looks like it's heading for the city! Should we see if we can hitch a ride?"  
Skeppy contemplates, and shrugs,

"Let's see what kind of caravan, we don't want to hop into a slaver's caravan. Sure, it would get us there, but not in any way we'd LIKE."  
Sapnap shudders in agreement, looking a bit downtrodden,  
  
"That's true...I just got excited, I haven't seen any people except you out here. And maybe they have cake."  
Skeppy laughs sleepily, and flicks Sapnap's cheek,

"You're such a fucking dork Sapnap. Let's see what we can see, then."

He feels like calling Sapnap a dork is a lie, since he himself would be behaving very similarly if it was him and Bad traveling together.  
He would definitely be eating flowers and leaves to make Bad squish his cheeks and beg him to spit it out, teasing him about things, and making flower crowns with him, all with a shit-eating grin and an unmatched joy.  
He would definitely be happy.

An unrest begins to stir, and he sits up, teasing Sapnap,

"You cuddle in your sleep, Sapnap. Kinda gay not gonna lie!"  
Sapnap punches his arm a bit harder than necessary,

"Oh shut up," he days, looking off to the side, cheeks pink, "You didn't move away from me, did you? We're equally at fault when it comes to that cuddling thing."

Skeppy stretches, and crawls out from under the shelter, peering over at the caravan as it comes down the road.

"How did you know it was there?" He asks Sapnap, who points to the mound of leaves on a plate near the ashes of their fire,

"I was going out to get food. I saw them and came running back because I got excited."  
Skeppy squints at it, and after a minute or so-

"That's a merchant. You can tell by the make of the wagons, see, they're not designed to hold humans except the last two."  
There's around four wagons excluding the foremost one. Sapnap nods, focusing intently.

"So," he crawls a bit further out, "should we catch them and negotiate a ride?"

Skeppy shrugs,

"It would be a good idea to try. I do have a bit of money on me, and if they don't want that, well...we'll see."  
He rolls up the bedrolls, tying them back to their packs, and they slip out, making their way over to hail the driver.

"Hello! Sir!" Skeppy calls once he's close enough to be in hearing range, and the driver looks over, "Could we speak a minute? If it's not too much trouble that is!"  
The wagons slow to a halt, and the driver leans over to ask,

"Yes? Where might you two be heading?"  
Sapnap steps in,

"Gotopia City. We were wondering if you'd be willing to allow us to hitch a ride? It's quite a ways on foot and we're rather pressed for time, you see."  
The driver, who Skeppy now realizes is a middle-aged man who very well might be the merchant himself, laughs kindly, and replies,

"We picked up two strays heading the same way last night, actually! Same deal as them; you help unload when we arrive, and you can travel with us."

Skeppy and Sapnap exchange excited looks, and nod enthusiastically. The driver directs them to the far back,

"The other two we picked up are in that one, along with a few of our workers. Hop in, and we'll be along."  
They thank him gratefully, and jog around to the back, hopping in as directed.  
  
The inhabitants glance up; a young woman and a man of similar age, who Skeppy guesses are stablehands, a person in a cloak who could be anything, and two teenagers huddled with a fox near them.  
Sapnap's eyes light up, and he skids over to them,

"Tommy, Tubbo!! You're alive!"  
One of them, a blond with piercing blue eyes, jumps, and the other, medium brown hair brushed just barely out of eyes that land somewhere between green and blue, looks up and his expression, initially of fear, brightens as he hugs Skeppy's companion.

"Sapnap!" His voice is muffled, but he speaks a bit like George, Skeppy realizes distantly, "Oh my gosh, I'm glad we didn't miss you mate!"  
The blond speaks up,

"Who's the other fella?" He tilts his head to Skeppy, who slides over and introduces himself.

"Skeppy. You are?"

"Tommy," the blond prods the other boy's cheek, "Tubbo. Innit a little odd that we ended up on the same 'ere caravan? Stroke of luck, I'd say!"  
Skeppy points to the blond,

"You're Tommy," he then points to the other who is now holding the fox on his lap, "And Tubbo?"  
He realizes he pointed to the fox, a fact not missed by the youths who begin giggling, Tubbo pointing to himself,

"Tubbo," to the fox, "Fundy!"

_"We used Fundy as a distraction."_

Skeppy reels, and then turns to Sapnap,

"Have they been following us?" He asks, a mildly accusing tone to his voice, and Sapnap hesitates, giving it away. "Why didn't you just say there were two others?"  
Sapnap shrugs, now mumbling something, and Tommy cuts in,

"See, 'e wanted to help you get your boyfriend back but we needed to get home without being killed, so it was a tiny bit of a clashing goal."  
Tubbo flaps a hand at Tommy, shushing him. The fox looks up at Skeppy, blinking affectionately. He remembers the food, it seems.  
Skeppy is a little agitated now by Sapnap's refusal to respond.

"Home? Where is home, why does it contradict me rescuing my best friend?"  
Sapnap tugs on Tubbo's sleeve, wincing, and Tubbo nods,

"Go ahead, spill it for him. He should know."  
Sapnap takes a deep breath of relief,

"They're, from the place we're going. They're trying to find two of their friends, sorta older brother or dad figures to them, and get home but they've been exiled. So I diverged from my goal of getting them home to help you."  
Skeppy impulsively double takes, drinking in the details of the two. They seem...human. Normal.  
Tommy grows defensive after a moment or two more of the examining,

"I'm not a freak or somethin! People live there too, idiot."

Skeppy flinches a little.

"Sorry. I just- didn't know people lived there?"  
Tubbo nods, and explains,

"We're jus' a lil' sensitive to water and snow. Lava is a lot more manageable. It's a long story, if I'm honest. But-"  
He shuts up, and Skeppy glances around, bemused. Tommy is stone faced and Sapnap just looks uncomfortable.  
  
"...so why didn't you tell me?" he asks, bluntly directing his words at Sapnap.

"I thought you might, I dunno, kill em," he admits sheepishly, "I didn't know you all that well! And your town had just been ravaged, sometimes in that circumstance you take revenge on whoever you can," he gestures to the pair, "Even children. So I had to make sure you were safe."  
Skeppy frowns. His words make sense, and yet something about them feels...off. It doesn't quite make sense at the same time.  
It doesn't...CLICK. Skeppy sighs.

"...valid," he says begrudgingly, still uncertain, his skin prickling. "I don't think bringing along kids would've been super wise anyway, they'd have gotten in danger and that's not good."  
He snickers though, his mood lightening,

"We could've trapped them in boxes though, little obsidian boxes while we got our goal accomplished."  
One of the stablehands pipes up in amusement, drawling out,  
"Y'alls sound like yer planning some kinda bloody revolution. Who's the beheaded ruler this time, eh?"  
  
She leans back, brushing back her silky auburn hair as her companion braids it. Skeppy blinks, glancing between her and Sapnap, realizing how there's aspects of their voices that sound similar.

_An accent, that's what they call it, right? God, we really didn't get many travelers._

"Nobody really, don't worry yourself," he says with a stretch, "It's not a revolution anyway, it's arson."  
She chuckles in reply, and introduces herself,

"The name's Ann, this here," pointing to her fair-haired companion- "is Juko. The weirdo in the cloak...oi!! Get yer ass over here!"  
The cloaked person visibly grimaces, and makes their way over, pulling down the hood to reveal a feminine person with short, bobbed black hair and wide blue eyes behind owlish glasses.

"...Rach," they introduce themselves, and seem content to leave it at that.

"Rach is a secretive arse but they know a fuck ton of cool facts," Ann chatters, "And they travel all over the place filling out their map! It's real cool!"

Soon, other members of the wagon are poking over, and Skeppy begins to forget about his misgivings regarding Sapnap's lies.  
Hours pass, and finally everyone begins to get ready for the night; as they prepare to stop for the night, Skeppy sits next to Sapnap who's dangling his feet off the back of the wagon.

"So," he asks quietly, "Is your name Nick?"  
Sapnap visibly looks shocked, and grabs him by the sweater, pulling him close enough that from behind it might look like they were kissing,  
  
"How the HELL do you know that," he growls, glancing around, paranoid, "How did you find out?!" Skeppy sputters, and explains in a gasp,

"It was them! They were try- trying to wake you up the other night, but I heard them in my sleep, and-"  
Sapnap releases him, and looks away, to the road slipping away beneath the wagon.  
Skeppy wheezes for a second, surprised by the other's violent reaction.

"...I'm sorry," Sapnap says bluntly, "I have enemies, like most people. I don't like to share my name around, for fear it gets back to them. The last thing I want is for them to call me by it."

Skeppy nods, understanding.  
"I get that," he says amiably, "You're a guy with secrets, a guy with his own agenda. That's okay."  
He places his hand on Sapnap's shoulder, and looks up to the sky,  
"I just hope that agenda has nothing preventing us from being friends in it."

He misses Sapnap's shocked, guilty look before the other hugs him tightly,  
"You're stupid," he hears mumbled against his sweater, "But you're fun to be around and I'm stuck with you anyway. So yeah. We're friends. My agenda aside."  
The wagon rolls to a stop, and the two nearly fall out, and first Skeppy, then Sapnap, begins to laugh, hysterically, over how each of them is hanging on for dear life, and probably from the tension they had just been handling as well.

"You're the stupid one," Skeppy replies, and Tubbo peeps out,

"Aye, do either of you two want to do the fire? Shouldn't trust Tommy w'that."

Skeppy nods, and Sapnap stretches, yawning.  
They go their own ways, and soon a bright fire is burning in the center of the caravan's campsite.  
Skeppy lays down, closing his eyes, and feels the tension leave him.

_  
I'm one day closer to saving Bad._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This chapter contains the bulk of the torture, though it isn't graphic, it involves heated metal on flesh, so fair warning  
> -"Brute" is a piglin brute  
> -The torture DID NOT come from Techno's regime. It's been a part of how the Nether handles prisoners and traitors for a long time  
>  **This is now posted on my Wattpad! Under its new name.**

The energy had changed in his cell, Bad noticed.

It was tense and uncomfortable, and the piglin guard he had made conversation with refused to look his way.

He shifts upright, getting more comfortable, and leans as far as he can towards the door, peering towards the hall.  
Something in him freezes like a scared rabbit, and he leans back, swallowing heavily.

He should've known it was too good, too easy, for it to last.  
He doesn't want to acknowledge what he saw, or what it would mean for him, but soon he's being wrenched from his position, wrists freed only to be chained again, led away.

His eyes are closed tightly, and the guard watches sadly, unable to even get in a reassuring word like 'I'll be here when you're back.'  
Bad struggles when he feels himself being pushed down to a table, he fights back, trying to break free, in any way he can.  
It only earns him a slap as he's bound down.

"You have skills," the brute's voice rumbles, and he shrinks, "I will ask once. Will you serve us willingly? We will resort to force if we need to."  
Bad shakes his head, opening one eye fearfully,

"No! I won't help you after what you did to my home!" He says defiantly, voice trembling. He was scared.  
 _I wish my voice wasn't shaking! I wish I could be scary and powerful so he might let me go!_

He realizes how little it mattered in a moment- his realization is accompanied by a scream and pain, somewhere, somehow-  
  
 _I'm screaming?_

  
The pain dulls, and he looks around with wide, panicked eyes, trying to find the source, to prepare, for something- anything-

Then he's gone again, and he swears he can smell something burning distantly, something is burning for sure.  
There's a faint sizzling, and he's breathing heavily. He's heaving in the bitter air, the air that burns his mouth, but it's better than not breathing. His waist, his hip, it's burning-

He sees the brute move this time, sees the glowing red metal, but he can't prepare enough to stop the scream of agony that tears free of his throat when it presses to his skin.  
He's babbling by the eighth, begging,  
  
"Please please please no more, no more, I don't- please- no more-"  
His begging doesn't seem to sway the brute, but the way he comes close to actually passing out by the tenth does.

He's only vaguely aware of being dragged back, his shirt gone to expose the burns now speckling his side.  
His breaths are shallow, and his thoughts are so distant, like he's treating a patient.  
 _Aloe, cold cloth, we need to salve the pain before it gets too much-_

  
And when his side brushes the bricks, George is the one who screams.

* * *

George jerks awake in bed, the girly, high pitched scream that had just left his mouth ringing in his ears. He glances around the room, confused, uncertain how he got here.  
He's confused why he can't stand for a second, until he registers his environment fully by means of the person who has his arms around his waist sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

  
"Notfound? Are you okay?" His voice brings it back, brings _him_ back. George nods.

"Uh- mhm, I'm okay Dream. I think. Not a great dream though. Think the pain is what made me scream like that."  
He's awkward, and Dream sits up,

"I take it you're fully lucid now?" He asks, brushing George's hair back, looking a bit disappointed when the other flinches away from his touch with a nod.

"...Sorry," George says breathlessly, "I'm just- everything is confusing. I barely remember anything except a couple minutes before this moment, except collapsing in the square with Z- with my friend."

Dream looks further disappointed with this, and replies humorously,

"Well, I guess this is what I get for bonding with someone while they're delirious with fever. Do you remember when I gave you your name? You responded to it, so I assume so."

_"Bonding with someone while they're delirious?" What impression did I give him? I don't recall much._

"...Yeah, I vaguely recall. It's one of the moments I can kinda see."

George glances to the window, and blinks; it looks wrong outside, but in a weird way. He stands, wobbling over to the window with Dream's warning,

"Watch out, you're still weak- the venom might be gone now but you're not fully recovered."

He leans out, and stares around him, baffled.  
The ground is a yellowish white, the sky is a bizarre shade of blue, and tall blue and white plants are growing from the ground. There's so much _blue_.  
Dream mumbles,

"It's a lot of purple, I know. Welcome to the End, Notfound."

  
George turns to him in shock.

"The End? You've GOT to be joking, right?"

Dream slips on a mask with a crudely drawn smiley face on it, and shakes his head,

"You were all scratched up and just laying there in the street. I felt fuckin horrible knowing beings from my world did that, so I took you back with me. I think your friend assumed you were dead."

  
George's heart drops, and he gulps.

"...Is there a way to contact him? I don't want him to think I'm dead, that's horrible."  
  
Dream points to a tall building just visible,

"The post office. If you know your friend's name, just write it and a timeframe on the letter- and I mean his NAME- and drop it in. It'll find him, in some way in that frame. Try not to make it too fast, sometimes it will mess things up. Once you eat, I'll take you there."

George nods, and asks,

"...is this place really purple? It looks so blue."  
Dream steps over, and tilts his head a bit, looking into George's eyes, and then seems to remember,

"...You're colorblind," he clarifies, "You told me when you were delirious. Yeah, it's purple. Don't worry about it though, I'm working on that for you."

  
George looks baffled, and it clearly shows.

_He's working on what? My eyes?_

Dream laughs softly at the baffled expression George has, and takes his hand gently.

"You'll need some clothes." He remarks, "You're still wearing infirmary pjs. I got some clothes roughly in your size brought up, I didn't want to go measuring while you were unconscious or anything."  
George abruptly comes to the realization that he is indeed, not wearing the clothes he arrives in. He examines the soft blue-grey fabric (lavender, though he wouldn't know it) and asks suspiciously,

"How did my clothes get changed, besides? What happened to what I was wearing?"

Dream cringes slightly, and tips his mask down as he opens the door.

"Burned," he replies bluntly, "They were burned. The venom was already saturating the fabric and I couldn't have that around, especially not around you as you were recovering. The medic changed your clothes, I doubt she paid much mind though. You were in a lot of pain, and then drugged. It was better for you to be in looser clothing."

George feels the flush rising to his cheeks, but he admits it was within reason for them to have done that. He was too delirious to have given consent, and it was a medical reason.  
He fidgets with the sleeves a little more, before coming to a stop.  
Dream stops as well, looking to him. Or, George thinks he does, his face is hidden behind the mask.

"...Why did you save me?" He murmurs, and Dream reaches out gently to tip his face up.

"Because, George," he says quietly, making sure nobody was near, "I could see you glowing in spite of my state at the time. Your friend wasn't, but you were. When I realized how badly injured you were, I did what I had to, even though that involved almost abducting you."

George shivers, and nods, understanding...mostly. He follows as Dream begins to walk again.

"Your state? How was it any different from now?" He wonders, "You look pretty similar and it's not like you were poisoned."

Dream answers, not looking back this time,

"I was under the influence of a parasite. We only recently scrubbed it from our populace, but it's some sort of thing- gets into your brain and distorts your thoughts. For me, it blew every form of desire I had horribly out of proportion- I was power hungry, tyrannical, and honestly just an overall dickhead. It seems to have trouble surviving in the Overworld however, and when certain conditions are met. Such as finding you."  
George stares at him as they walk, thoughts rapidly working to understand all of this.  
 _Parasite, brain parasite. Messes with thoughts. Makes things weird. Can't survive in the Overworld? Seeing me kicked it out?  
  
_

"...and why did it get booted out then?" George asks, and Dream sighs.

"You ask an awful lot of questions Notfound. I can't say I dislike it though."  
He dodges answering, and opens a door.  
  
"This is my room- the one where you'll be staying is next door, for safety. We don't get visitors from the Overworld often and I personally want to make sure you stay safe."

"But why?" George persists, and Dream glances at him, shutting the door behind them. He takes a deep sigh, removing his mask, and begins to gather some of the folded clothes from his dresser.

"Get dressed, and we can eat and then go to the post office. I'll explain on our way, promise." George eyes him warily, and he gestures to a screened area in the corner of the room, "Over there, jeez, I'm not a pervert. Relax. If I had bad intentions I would've acted on them already when I had you at my mercy."  
  


_You still do._

The words are on the tip of George's tongue, and he almost says it, but he takes the clothes and slips away into the screened area to change.

He has no doubt in his mind that Dream has to be nobility; his bearing, speech, and home all seem to speak to it. Not to mention how he said that the parasite had been scrubbed from 'our' populace; almost a 'royal we' manner of phrasing that left George with rather few doubts he was dealing with someone very powerful indeed.  
  
He emerges in a slightly-too-big black turtleneck, comfortable pants that do fit, socks (very important). And undergarments, but that goes without saying. What kind of monster doesn't include undergarments with a change of clothing?  
Dream is dressed down now, similarly to George with the exception of his necklace- an eye of sorts, centered in a diamond shape. It seems to be floating within the metal frame however- and his boots, now visible as calf-high, a dark blue (purple) and buckled in a way George finds too absurd to be functional. He turns to smile, mask gone, and winks,

"Undercover mission. Gotta be subtle."  
Despite that statement, he approaches the wall and lifts a grey cloak of sorts from a rack, donning it. It seems to fuse to him almost, a pair of grey wings now lightly fluttering their feathers as he holds up a second cloak, turning to George.

"Here. It's an elytra, everyone has one unless they lost it or something. I'll teach you how to fly later, we're just blending in right now. Would you like to write the letter while I get some food brought up? Also, shoe size."  
George gives him the information requested, and then answers, confused,

"Fly? Elytra? You've quite lost me, but food sounds rather nice. I'll write the letter, or letters...I haven't a clue about Bad, if he's okay, but knowing Skeppy, if Bad is alright he'll tell me."

The thought now crosses his mind,

"Wait, if this is a magical letter delivery, how on earth does someone reply??"  
Dream shrugs, ringing a bell,

"You don't. Also, be careful with some of the food around here. You uh, might experience unexpected side effects, and by that, I mean you might teleport somewhere at complete random. You develop a tolerance for it, but until then I'd advise only eating it in a safe place where you know you won't teleport onto a roof."  
George looks at him as though he's absolutely lost his mind, and to be fair, he's not being unreasonable if he thinks that. After all, who ever teleported because of food?

_Dream, clearly._

A knock at the door is heard, and Dream gestures,

"Go grab it. It should be a plate or two, no biggie."  
George answers the door, and is met with a black- and not just _dark_ \- skinned being who peers at him with bright blue eyes curiously, ebony hair cascading down their shoulders. He flinches, expecting to be attacked as soon as he makes eye contact, but they hand him a plate covered neatly and then scurries away. He shuts the door, perplexed, and Dream laughs at his baffled expression.  
  


"You look very confused, did you forget what dimension we're in?"

"I thought the other people living here would look like, well, you," George sheepishly admits, "Or like me. Human, y'know?"  
Dream explains, nodding as George sits on the floor (he can't see any reason not to) and begins to examine the food, finding several familiar foods as well as an odd looking fruit or something.

"Well, we have two kinds of people. There are beings who are what you know as Endermen, beings who were consumed by the parasite long ago, and though their mind is free from it, their bodies and genetics were irreparably altered by it. They also have gained the ability to absorb and utilize the teleportation ability of the chorus fruits. Then there are ones like me, who descended from warriors who fought the parasite in any way we found until we figure out how to drive it out. It first cropped up around a hundred years ago, if you're wondering. We lived relatively unmolested before then, aside from the shulkers and dragons."  
George nods, and through a mouthful of something akin to eggs, asks,

"And you- you're nobility, right? This really doesn't seem like a commoner's house, if you'll excuse my bluntness."  
  


Dream nods, almost seemingly relieved by the question,

"I am. Royalty, actually. It's a rather puffed up statement to make but I'm the prince of the End- so, the ruler. Don't let it interfere with your perception of me, though. To you, I'm just Dream, alright?"

"If you're the prince, who's the king?" He wonders, taking a moment to register the rest.

"There is no king. The prince rules- I could say some sappy thing like "the people are the king" but in all honesty the term king got phased out after a genocidal asshole took the throne. Now king is tantamount to an insult, really- it implies you would ruthlessly slaughter those who trust you, stab them in the backs. I believe the phrase used in your parts is more of a "wolf in sheep's clothing". Or just a backstabbing traitor, but on a kingdom wide scale. So careful with that word, come to think of it."  
George nods and swallows another mouthful, realizing as he eats just how hungry he really is. Did he eat at all while feverish?...he had to have had SOMETHING.

He then replies slowly,  
"Well, Dream, I'm not sure I can completely treat you wholly like I'd treat my sparring buddy or the local medic or anything, because "Dream" is a prince and also the man who saved my life."

Dream kneels down next to him, and says very seriously,

"Then let Clay be the one you treat like an every day person, just another face in the street. Let me be Clay to you, not Dream. Please?"

His tone is soft, and with a hint of almost desperation that George feels sorry for.  
He nods, and murmurs in response, the uttering of the name almost illegal to his adapting mind,

"If that's what you want, then you'll be Clay to me."  
Dream seems to almost glow with excitement at the utterance of his name, and he beams, ruffling George's hair- to the other man's chagrin.

"Thank you George," he says, almost singsong with his unexplained joy, "I don't get this chance often! Actually, ever!"  
George nods distantly, already back in his head as he continues eating.

A prince without a kingdom, a whole colloquial meaning to a normal word, a true name said by him- true names being REAL and substantial in a way George had never realized they were before. He had always been a skeptic, but the sensation his whole body had been hit with upon Dream saying his name was undeniable.  
  
A prince who wants to be a normal person for him, specifically. A prince who seems to grow giddy at his name being said.

He's so distant and lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize he's eating the fruit he’d been warned of until it's too late- he feels a wrench somewhere in his gut and he dissolves in a shower of blue sparks and sucking sound as air rushes to occupy the spot he'd just left.  
Thankfully he's only a few feet away from where he had been sitting, but it's a shock for certain. Dream rushes over, checking in concern,

"You're okay? Move your hands, check you have full mobility, deep breaths-"

"Dream, I'm fine," George replies in a tense tone, "Just unnerved and a little leery of your fruits now."

A wry laugh escapes the prince, who stands and goes back to a desk tucked into the corner, grabbing an inkwell, quill, and sheet of paper.

"Here. Write your letter. Don't worry about sanding the ink by the way, our ink is infinitely better than most Overworld ink. Spooky End magic," he waggles his fingers as he sets it down near George as George discards his plate.

"Alright," he murmurs, "So if I talk about you, what do I say? Dream, prince of the end, mercifully spared my life? Clay, a guy who lives in the end, nursed me back to health?"

"A combination, I'd say, and don't use my name in the letter. It'll send weird. Also I didn't spare your life, I rescued you and nursed you back to health, me being a prince or not. I rule a world of void and floating cream rock, George, I'm hardly higher status than you in most ways."

"See, this is where your knowledge of the Overworld fails you," George remarks, beginning to scrawl out his greeting and explanation to Skeppy, "As a person who does not rule anything, I am very low in the hierarchy. I'm a peasant, but also a peasant who lived in an isolated village. My mother and father baked, and I hunted and fought against the mobs when they came to fuck things up. We had little money and our home relied on a bartering system largely."

"Yes, I get that," Dream replies, "But I mean, you still controlled things, and you certainly didn't have to worry about everyone else constantly."

"Oh, the contrary," George objects, "We paid taxes, and whenever anything bad began to happen, my first thoughts were everyone else, Dream."  
He continues to write while Dream registers this all, and tries to understand. He finishes before the other speaks again.

"...you don't make much sense, my little Overworld human, but we can work with that," he pipes cheerfully, and George shudders.

"Jesus, never call me that again. It feels like you're going to eat me."  
Dream finds George's words hilarious it seems, since he starts wheezing hysterically as the meaning sinks in.

"Eat??" He gasps, and George looks at him, a little worried, "I wouldn't eAt you!" His voice cracks and George can't help but snort, amused by the other's hysterics.  
  
"Well, how do I guarantee that?" He jokes, "You're not exactly the most reassuring when you call me a "little Overworld human", after all."

Dream ruffles his hair, and George groans, smoothing it down again.

"Aww, no," the blond protests, "You look cute with messy hair."

"It's a mess though!" George retorts, laughing softly, "And plus no, I look hugely dorky. Shut your charismatic mouth."

Dream teasingly retorts,  
  
"Ooooooh, he thinks I'm charismatic! How flattering!" George can't resist punching his arm lightly, much to the prince's bafflement. "What? Did I warrant aggressive response?"  
George shakes his head with a laugh.

"No no! That's like, horsing around, you know? When I'm with my friends and one of them starts acting all goofy and dumb I sometimes do that."  
Dream looks at his hand, and then balls it up and lightly, gently, punches George's shoulder.

"Like this?"

"A little harder, but you've got the idea!" George says brightly. It's odd to him, that something so engrained in his behavior would be foreign to someone else. Then again, Dream is a prince and likely hasn't really had much time to horse around, or even really many friends.

That realization causes George to grow a little more somber. Has Dream had friends? Surely he has, he's so easygoing and, well, easy to talk to.

"...Hey, Dream, have you even like, had many friends?" He wonders, and Dream shrugs,

"Not exactly? My subjects tiptoe around me despite knowing me, and I haven't really had a person to just talk to without bringing up my status often. Let alone give my name to."

George feels unsettled, still wondering why Dream would entrust him with his name. And so soon into knowing him...perhaps he just wasn't afraid of him?  
Or it had something to do with why he really saved him. George somehow doubts that he was rescued and nursed back to health just out of the goodness of Dream's heart. Not that he doubts that Dream is a good person- it just seems odd.  
He writes a bit more, before deciding it was done enough to be sufficient.

It detailed his current circumstances, and asked about Skeppy's and Bad's. He feels like Bad is...not doing well. He can't explain exactly why, but that vision just felt too real.  
He had woken up screaming because he could feel the pain in his side. That just isn't normal, he's sure.  
And knowing Bad's name didn't make it any more likely that it was just a really vivid nightmare.

  
"Do you have an envelope?" He asks Dream, snapping out of his thoughts. Dream nods, and grabs it from the desk, handing it to George.

He seals it, and asks nervously,

"How do I address it?"

  
Dream points to the upper right corner of the back of the envelope,

"Your friend's name, yes his real one, and then a time frame, such as "within 3 weeks"."

George looks down, and covers it as he writes.  
  


_Zak_

_Within a week_   
  


He picks it up, and mumbles to himself,

"How does the ink dry so fast? Is that magic too??"

Dream nods wisely, and then grabs his arm, tugging him towards the wall,

"Alright! Let's go!"


	7. Chapter 7

George yelps, watching as his companion hits something on the mural in the wall, and a passage opens up. Not surprising to him, but the door closing behind them wasn't welcome.  
Dream grabs a lantern of sorts from the roof, and leads George down the sloping tunnel.

"This leads to the garden," He says excitedly, "I use it when I want to get out without being seen, go on a people-watching trip or something. When I wanna blend in."  
They nearly tumble to the end, and Dream opens the door, almost bouncing with excitement.

George looks around the exit; it seems they're behind a wall of shrubbery. Dream leads the way, closing the panel behind them, and then they're in front of a wrought iron gate that leads out past a wall. George asks him quietly,

"Where are we?"

"Palace gardens, this gate leads out to the front of the palace. We can blend in from there." He tugs him along more, and they slip out, into the open, and then Dream breaks into a jog, holding George's hand, seemingly forgetting the other man had been hospitalized for multiple days.  
George looks around them, awestruck by just how different it is- not the void of the End itself, but the architecture of the homes and shops, and of course the looming palace. He almost forgets to keep asking questions. Almost.

"...So can you tell me now?" He persists his earlier questioning. "What made you save me?"  
Dream answers softly as they merge with the crowd, just two more people milling about,

"Well, I'm pretty certain you and I were supposed to meet. Like, in the special way."  
George blinks a few times,

"What?"  
Dream looks embarrassed, and they duck into an alley briefly as he explains seriously,

"Soulmates, George. I think we're soulmates. You drew me to you, even half dead, and when I learned your name it felt like- a puzzle piece. Like it was supposed to happen." He looks a little shy almost, as though admitting this reveals a great weakness; and in a way it does.  
If George was his soulmate, the two were supposed to share a special bond, and all that. George looks away for a second to consider it all.  
 _Names are real. This is a realm of magic. Are soulmates also real?..._

He usually would have discarded it instantly. He would've laughed at it with a hint of mockery.  
But after everything that happened in recent days, he doubts the validity of his skepticism. Sure, he still wasn't going to believe all those silly rumors about obsidian and turning into a Nether beast. But he also wasn't going to doubt the feeling that had gone through him when Dream called him George, or the feeling he got when calling Dream Clay.

"...how would we know? Is there a way to prove it?" Dream shrugs in response to the question,

"Finding your soulmate is supposed to be uncommon and nobody really knows how to prove it other than how you feel. How you fall in love and it's just- puzzle pieces. You work well, even with your differences. Everyone has a different account, so let's wait and see. But if I'm wrong, I still don't regret my choices, you're a pretty neat guy."  
He pulls George to the other end of the alley, and points up at a building.

It's tall, two tower-like portions sprouting from it, the roof an odd shade of blue to George. He can see a fence on top of the taller tower, the shorter coming to a spire of sorts. There's stairs wrapping around the shorter tower, leading to a platform.  
It feels almost more like a library, or a fantastical building than a post office. Dream opens the door, and a small bell rings to alert the woman sitting at the front desk.

George surveys the rooms- he can see the main room is some sort of archive, filing cabinets and shelves crowding the walls, papers scattered over them and packed neatly into the drawers. In the next room over though, there's a...well?  
He squints, and realizes yes, it looks like a well is set into the floor of the house, a faint glow playing off the surface of the water. He stares at it in bemusement, noticing streaks of color that don't belong in water, and the longer he looks at it, the more he can see a faint shape of what seems to be a wagon, bouncing over a road.  
He snaps out of it, turning to listen to Dream, who's just chatting to the receptionist while letting George space out.

"How do I send it, D- Cl- can you, show me?"  
He stutters over names, and Dream perks up, and nods, making his way to the well,

"Yeah, here Notfound. Just take your letter, and drop it in!"  
He points to the water, and George eyes him doubtfully, prompting a laugh.

"Oh, just trust me! Your friend will get hit in the face or something with the letter, it's magic."

"He's never used the letter depository?" The woman asks, and George shakes his head. She adds to what Dream had been saying,

"Well, your friend is right. It might look like water, but it's a spell bound to that well. It will always find the person you're sending the letter to, and it will find a way to get the letter to them safely. It always works, sometimes in unexpected ways, but it always works."  
George swallows his doubt, and holds the letter over the water, praying that they're telling the truth.  
He drops it in, and it vanishes without a ripple. For a moment, he can see Skeppy's face in the water, and then the images are gone.

"You did it!" Dream congratulates, and George murmurs,

"I sure hope I did. Is it normal to see the person you're sending it to?"

"Yes, it's perfectly natural," the woman reassures, and Dream asks,

"Where should we go now? You've got your letter sent and all, so..."  
George tugs on the other's elytra, and comprehension dawns. He nods.

"Good idea."  
The two leave the post office, and Dream leads George to a building,

"This is where we do training," he explains, "Some people who are like, scared of heights and stuff also come to train, so don't worry, you're not going to be the only adult there."  
It's a wide courtyard with a walkway around it, high up. George recognizes the floor as being made of slime, a substance that somehow can prevent any injuries from falling, and the walls appear to be coated in a similar substance.  
Dream leads him up to the walkway, and, refusing to look down, begins to instruct.

"Okay, so when you want to start using the wings, you just kinda tighten your back for a second, like, th, this."  
He's growing pale, and shaky, but he still takes the dive off, and the wings open, allowing him to adjust a glide path so he reaches the other side.

"Your turn!!" He calls, and George awkwardly watches the little kids around them learning to do the same thing. A few fail and plummet to the slime below, shrieking as they bounce.  
George hesitates so long that Dream comes all the way back around the walkway. He's still hesitating when Dream pushes him off.  
A high pitched shriek escapes him and a strangled wail.

"ClllllaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!!"

He closes his eyes, bracing for impact, impact that doesn't come. He can hear Dream wheezing incoherently from the walkway, and his hand finds the edge of the other side. He opens his eyes to find himself clinging to the opposing walkway. He flips Dream off, scrambling up, and this time jumps himself, gliding over to the hysterical blond.

"Bad decision, _Clay,_ " he grumbles, and pushes him off. Dream screaming nearly as high as him as he falls is the sweet sound of revenge to George's ears.

* * *

  
They practice for a while longer, but George finds himself tired, and once he yawns Dream insists on going back to the palace.

As they make their way into the passage, George asks him,

"Clay, are you afraid of heights?"  
Since his fall and the instinctive scream of the other's name, it became easier and easier to call him it, even if he's still Dream in George's thoughts. Dream glances back.

"...well, a little," he admits, "I just really hate how little control I have? That's why I wear the elytra whenever I'm out of the palace. Never know when I might need to glide."  
George giggles, and bonks him as they reenter his bedroom,

"You're afraid of heights even though you rule a void world of islands? Man, that's a stroke of irony. Or misfortune."  
Dream rolls his eyes, and puts his mask and cloak back on quickly.

"Here, this way to your room." He opens the door, and leads him to the left of his own room. It's a simpler room, clearly furnished bare minimum as opposed to Dream's personalized (and cluttered) one. George doesn't mind though, the simplicity is appealing. He yawns again, and Dream adds,

"There's pajamas in the dresser, if you need me come knock."  
George nods his thanks, and hugs Dream briefly, to the other's surprise- he stiffens for a moment.

"Hey, thanks for everything," he says quietly, and Dream awkwardly embraces him in return, "I don't know how I'm going to repay you, Clay, I mean, you saved my life and are giving me a place to stay. But if there's anything you need from me, I'll do my best."  
Dream mumbles something unintelligible, and lets go.

"...George, you don't need to thank me," he says in a shameful, quiet tone, "It was my fault you were in that state, and it was my fault your village was destroyed, even if I didn't give the order for it to happen. Saving your life was just the right thing to do, since I was the only one there who could."  
  
He leaves the room, leaving George to change into night clothes and slip under the covers, rubbing his eyes sleepily before drifting off.

* * *

 _He was standing in a dim room that seemed devoid of color. It felt like it was incredibly hot, but his body doesn't register it properly.  
  
_ _He can hear sniffling, and as he searches for it, he can see someone slouched against the wall, arms above their head. It takes him a moment to_ _realize it's Bad._  
 _He kneels down, and he flinches as he sees a pattern of burns up his side.  
_ _The soft, hiccuping sobs that wrack his friend almost make him start to cry too- he reaches out to cup his cheeks, to do anything-_

* * *

And he snaps awake, staring at the ceiling with tears on his cheeks.

_Bad?_


	8. Chapter 8

Skeppy's voice trails into giggles and he punches Sapnap's arm as they sit on the back of the wagon.

"Those aren't the lyrics, stupid! You know them by now!" Skeppy's playful exasperation is ignored by Sapnap as he chuckles, leaning on his friend.  
He retorts with a grin,

"Yeah, but they're _funny_ , aren't they?"  
  
Skeppy concedes with a chuckle,

"Yeah, but only a little! Come on, let's try again!"  
He begins to tap out a beat on the wood, and starts to sing, nodding for Sapnap to join.

"Somewhere in the mountains, over earth, through sky..."

"...burning breath, fiery eyes, scales and spines, a masterful guise..."

"Sing me the song, the song of the dragonkeeper, dragonslayer, allow the dusk to settle..."

They continue for the rest of the verse, trading lines as they bounce over rocks in the road. It's been a day or two since they joined the caravan and Skeppy can't say he regrets the choice. He and Sapnap banter playfully throughout the day, and at night he's woken up multiple times to Sapnap snuggled against him. The raven-haired man denies it, but Tommy and Tubbo both confirmed that he's quite clingy in his sleep, both having stories of having woken up to him hugging them as though he's in the middle of a nightmare.  
  
Actually...  
Skeppy snaps a dry blade of grass between his fingers as they finish the verse, looking at Sapnap's bright gaze.

He was younger than Skeppy had thought, only nineteen (though he insistently attested that his birthday was arriving in the spring, that he was turning twenty) as opposed to Skeppy himself approaching twenty-one years.

"You did it! And without calling the hero a fruit loop this time," he cheers, slapping Sapnap on the back, causing the other to cough slightly.

"Whoa, whoa, chill, no need to knock me off the wagon you mongrel," he chuckles, and leans forward to watch the edge of the road.  
  
Despite the initial feeling of betrayal Skeppy had felt learning about Sapnap keeping the boys a secret from him, he understands now. It could've been far worse, he supposes; Tubbo and Tommy are very nice in their own ways, and he finds himself butting heads with the stubborn blond over various topics, for fun or in seriousness, in a way that he often did with his friends.  
They're both, sadly, mature beyond their age, having been driven from their home by someone they once called a friend.

Tubbo pokes his head out between them, beaming,

"Guys! Come look, Tommy caught a bee in a jar!!"  
  
Skeppy shifts back into the wagon, eagerly crawling back to see the captive insect.  
Tubbo holds up the jar in awe, looking at the fuzzy little bee inside it. It seems content, nesting on a clover trapped in with it. Tommy looks proud of himself,

"It came right after the clover, ye see," he explains, seemingly delighted to explain his machinations, "And then BAM! I slammed the lid on!"

"Oh, I hope that didn't scare it," Tubbo says in dismay, and taps lightly on the side of the jar. "Ello lil guy..."  
The bee buzzes a bit, and Tubbo laughs quietly, grinning widely. Skeppy can see Tommy's face brightening at Tubbo's happiness, and he can't blame him; Tubbo has an infectious smile, and clearly Tommy cares a lot about him.

"Are you going to let it go later though?" Sapnap asks, and Tubbo nods.

"It can't survive in there after all," he says, "and it would be awful mean to just leave it there to die."  
They spend a little while longer giggling over the bee, and then Tubbo gently reaches into the jar, coaxing the bee onto his finger, and let it fly away out of the wagon.

Sapnap tugs on Skeppy's sleeve, and asks curiously,

"Hey, have you noticed the moon?" Skeppy blinks a few times, and shakes his head.

"What about it?" Sapnap leans out, pointing to the moon overhead. It's full, hanging in the air like a coin underwater...like a coin.

"Why's it so coppery looking?" Skeppy asks, frowning nervously. Sapnap shrugs.

"I don't know. I was hoping you did." Their anxious moonwatching becomes obvious to the teens, who glance up as well.

"The moon's awful orange, innit?" Tommy inquires, and Tubbo remarks,

"It's oranger than last year's harvest moon..."  
Skeppy narrows his gaze, trying to place what it is that's setting off his alarm bells. Soon the sky is clear of tree branches, and it becomes abruptly clear.

"Smoke." He breathes, eyes wide. Sapnap and the boys glance at him, and he points up, "The sky, it's full of smoke. That's why it's so orange. Take a deep breath, you can smell it."  
Tommy and Tubbo exchange looks, and Tubbo sheepishly explains,

"We can't smell smoke. We were raised in a dimension where the air constantly smells like it."  
Sapnap, though, takes a breath as instructed. He looks uneasy.

"...I wonder what's burning to cause such a cloud of smoke," he murmurs, and Skeppy replies.

"Usually it's forest fires that cause this, but I don't see any sign of a forest fire. Do you think there's been another raid?"

  
Another village, ransacked, a home destroyed. The thought makes Skeppy's fists clench, and he resist the urge to grind his teeth in frustration.  
 _Soon, soon. We're only a few days from the city._

He shrugs, and bitterly states,

"Not much we can do, you know? Just gotta keep going until we can put an end to this." Tommy looks off to the side.

"..do ye mean killin' Techno?" He asks in an undertone, and Skeppy shrugs.

"Seems like the best option. I mean, he's been looting and ransacking for a while now, hasn't he?"  
The boys exchange a look, and their fox thumps his tail on the wood, chattering at them.

"Well, no," Tubbo admits, "He started doing things like this the other year. He attended a treaty meeting, that turned out to be a fraud of a disguise for an ambush. He fought them off, and made it home but he seemed a little touched after that, if you get my drift."

Sapnap seems to bristle, and mutters,

"That's not what I heard, but like, okay." Skeppy glances between them.

"What's your stake in the truth of this matter, Sapnap?" He asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sapnap flinches. "...Can't say. All I can say is that it was far from an ambush."

This time, it's Tommy and Skeppy who exchange looks, Tubbo leaning back to pet Fundy.  
They leave the topic, reluctantly, and their stop for the night is called.

Skeppy wades off into the grass, the tall stalks waving around his waist, and locates a tree to climb up.  
He scales it, surveying the area for any sign of fire.

It takes a while, but he spots it in the distance, to the west of his position; a valley is lit with the familiar glow of a fire raging, and the trees around it seem scorched. Though it's obviously quite large, it's quite far away.  
He focuses on it, pulling out a small scope from his belt, trying to pick out any details-

From behind him comes a cracking sound and he jumps, scrabbling as his footing fails him. He's slipping, grabbing onto whatever he can reach to slow his fall-  
A shriek sounds as he lands in someone's arms haphazardly, his adrenaline still flooding him as he struggles, gasping.

"It always looks so easy in plays," Sapnap's voice gasps, and Skeppy opens his eyes slowly, finding himself held tightly by his friend. "I'm sorry, I think I freaked you out there. Are you okay?"

"Terrified, but unharmed, you dork," Skeppy bites out, "Thank you. For catching me, not for walking around like a lumbering bear."

This teases a laugh out of Sap, who sets him down carefully.

"What did you see from up there?" He inquires, and Skeppy replies with a shrug,

"It looks like some poor town is caught in the midst of a forest fire. It's pretty far away though." He slips his scope into his bag again, and takes a few jittery steps back towards camp.

  
Sapnap stops him, taking his hands for a moment.

"Hey, look," he says quietly, "I know that I got angry early over what Tubbo and Tommy were saying. I lost family to that massacre and it was shit because of one tyrannical asshole. So just take my word for it when I say it wasn't an ambush."

He lets go, and begins to head back towards the fire the group had already set up. The usual fireside banter begins, but Skeppy finds himself unable to focus, drumming out a monotonous, repetitive rhythm on the dirt under him.  
 _Sapnap's family was lost in that particular ambush? So they all had connections already. Weird. They said it was a treaty- a peace treaty? With whom?_

Everything seems to be tangling up into a ball of string that will only break if he pulls too hard trying to untangle it.  
Soon, the others are asleep, Sapnap leaning on Skeppy's shoulder, his lips slightly parted as he takes soft breaths.

Tonight's a good night for him, then, free of nightmares. Skeppy leans back reluctantly, watching Fundy prance through the campsite, picking up scraps from their plates.  
He closes his eyes, feeling Sapnap stir slightly.

* * *

_  
...the place he is in seems different from before. It's dark, so dark that it's hard to see, and he can hear high pitched whines and sobs that he recognizes as Bad's voice._

_"Please, please stop," he begs someone unseen. He's covered in small burns. "I'm sorry, I'll help, I will. Please, no more, it hurts, really!"  
_ _Skeppy feels bile rising in his throat, and he swallows hard, brushing a kiss over Bad's forehead and whispering,_

 _"Hang in there Darryl. I'm coming to save you."  
_ _Seeing the baffled but relieved expression that spreads across Bad's face, Skeppy is content to let the vision slip away so his mind retreats into darkness._

* * *

Sapnap is up first, and he glances around the campsite. At the fox, who's watching him. At Skeppy, slouched against the wagon, soundly asleep.  
  
He takes a deep breath, and turns the other way. The stablehands, piled together as they sleep. Tommy and Tubbo, nestled together as they peacefully sleep.

_It's not fair._

The sun rose on the campsite, and Sapnap is nowhere to be found when Skeppy opens his eyes. Tubbo, however, is leaning over Skeppy curiously, and pulls back when the other's eyes open.

"Good mornin'," he greets Skeppy, "D'ya have any clue where Sapnap might've got to? He wasn't here when we all woke up- we let you sleep in since you seemed to be having such a hard time doing so." Skeppy blinks a few times, rubbing his eyes, and then asking softly,

"He's gone? Did anyone see anything he could've left?"  
Tommy, overhearing, leans over,

"Nah. He just took off or sumthin. Me, I'm thinking he got cold feet. Pussied out, ya know?"  
Skeppy shrugs, and admits with a grimace,

"I don't know him that well, actually. So if he took off, I can't really help-"  
He sits up, and cuts off as he feels something crinkling under his belt. He pulls out a small folded piece of paper. He frowns, and unfolds it.

 _"Hey Skepy I'm going out for a walk back up the road. Tell Tubbo not to worry and punt Tommy for me."_  
  
Skeppy decides to leave that last bit out when he tells the others of where the other is going.  
Tubbo seems relieved, and Tommy just looks peeved,

"So you're telling me, we've been looking for his dumb ass this whole time and he just went for a fucking walk?" Skeppy sheepishly replies,

"Hey, I'm the messenger. What do they say about shooting the messenger?"

"Do it?" Tommy replies with a morbid grin. Skeppy shakes his head.

"No, they say not to shoot the messenger you idiot. You're gonna be all out of messengers if you shoot me," He says, with exaggerated gestures to accompany his words. Tommy punches his arm, and jokes,

"Eh, we wouldn't be worse for wear if I did!" Tubbo looks rather perturbed by all this talk of shooting messengers, and he shakes his head.

"If we shoot anyone we'll just be making ourselves short a man, you dorks." Skeppy ruffles his hair and laughs.

"We wouldn't actually shoot each other Tubbo, don't worry dude. At least, I wouldn't. Can't speak on behalf of Tommy." Tommy waggles his brows at Skeppy, grinning deviously. Skeppy rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue, feeling a childish sense of satisfaction from the immature act.

He stands up, brushing himself off and heading up the road back the way they came, checking for signs of Sapnap's presence- and sure enough, he sees a black and white figure sprawled in the grass, staring up at the sky.  
It's an idyllic scene, and Skeppy finds himself memorizing it before making his way over to Sapnap, who seems to be asleep in the grass, flopped down like a starfish. Skeppy kneels down and gently taps Sapnap's cheek, only for him to move in a blur, Skeppy's wrist now held tightly in the vice grip of the formerly sleeping Sapnap.

He yelps, and tries to tug his wrist away- it takes a moment for Sapnap to calm down enough to release him. The raven-haired man sits up, rubbing his eyes and brushing his hair back, eventually murmuring to him,

"Sorry Skeppy. Thought you were something else. Someone else. You okay?"  
Skeppy nods and holds up his wrist, examining it for a second. Though it was held that tightly for only a second or two, there's a faint discoloration that might indicate a bruise forming.

"...You're really fucking strong," He remarks, perplexed, and Sapnap, with a hint of defensiveness retorts,

"Maybe you're just really fragile! Like a rose petal!"  
Skeppy narrows his eyes and replies with a hint of warning,  
  
"Sapnap, I'd hold your tongue if I were you. Why are you so weird today anyway? Running off and falling asleep in the grass and then trying to crush my wrist when I touch you? Are you like, okay??" Sapnap looks away.

"...Just some nightmares," he admits, "It wasn't very great. I'm sorry about lashing out at you and all, I'm just like, stressed out over it."  
Skeppy nods, understanding. After all his own dreams have been increasingly distressing and he can get what Sapnap means by it.

"Forgiven. Let's get back to the caravan, I didn't punt Tommy for you. You gotta do it yourself." Sapnap groans, and wacks his friend's leg gently.

"One job, I gave you one job, and you failed it."

"The job was to kick a kid, of course I failed," Skeppy laughs, "I'd get reprimanded so hard by Bad if he was here and I even THOUGHT of kicking a kid."  
  
They begin to walk back, and Sapnap seems to take a moment to regain his balance. Skeppy realizes, with concern. that his friend seems paler, his eyes dull.

"Sapnap? Are you...alright? You look sorta sick."  
Sapnap smiles wanly, and sighs, waving his hand dismissively.

"Well, I'm just a little tired, a little worn out." Skeppy squishes his cheek gently and places a hand on his forehead. Sapnap takes his treatment, rolling his eyes. He's somewhat sweaty, and almost uncomfortably cold.

"...you really don't think you're sick or something? You seem like you'll pass out any second." Sapnap cringes at the bluntness.

"Maybe I'm a _little_ sick," he concedes meekly. Skeppy wraps his arm around his waist, draping Sapnap's arm over his shoulder, informing him,

"You're about to fall over, I'll walk you back and then you can rest. If you get sicker I'll see if I can figure out what kind of sickness it is and if I can remember how Bad treated it." Sapnap wiggles a bit, but allows the other to help him along, protesting,

"It's just a cold, I swear. I get pale and shit when I have colds."  
Skeppy ignores him and waves to the rest of the caravan,

"He's here, he's fine! Just a little sickly and shit." Sapnap groans in embarrassment, and Tubbo trots over.

"Sick?" He asks, and Sapnap shakes his head adamantly,

"A cold. A fucking cold, that Skeppy is overreacting to." No sooner than he finishes the statement, he sways and nearly topples, only stopped by Skeppy's arm.  
Skeppy narrows his eyes, and leads Sapnap into the wagon, rolling out one of their bedrolls and making Sapnap lay down.

"I'll get some food and water," he informs him, "You rest. Please, you don't seem to be doing very good at all."  
Sapnap looks off to the side, guiltily.

"...If it makes you feel better, I'll rest and shit," he acquiesces. Skeppy nods and says softly,

"It would make me feel better, yeah. I don't want you falling over. This is so sudden too, you were just fine yesterday..."  
Sapnap listens to him talk, watches him leave, and obeys his instructions with a heavy heart.  
  
He's not going to tell him about what he knows is the cause of this sudden onset of sickness.

He doesn't need his worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the weirdly timed update


	9. Chapter 9

Sapnap's condition stays the same for the next day.

Skeppy counts how many days it's been since they set out, trying to pinpoint if there was anything that could've caused this sudden worsening.  
He leans back against a sack of feed.

_The first day we made our way out of the village, and then slept. It was uneventful._

Tubbo keels over laughing as Tommy tickles him mercilessly, prompting a groan from Sapnap.

_The second day wasn't very eventful either. I showed him how to set snares… he went swimming…_

The blond has his friend in a headlock, and they're both laughing despite the gruff and deadpan nature of Tommy's threats.

_Third day...it started getting hotter. He can't be experiencing heatstroke, can he? But we built the shelter and…he was fine._

  
Skeppy sits up, almost hitting his head. He hadn't wanted to spend his time dwelling on Sapnap's illness like a mother hen, but...  
He cares. And it frustrates him, this nagging sensation in his heart, a twisting splinter of concern. Because when you care about someone, they occupy your thoughts, and his thoughts are already crowded enough!

But the nagging goes on and on. He sits down on the back of the wagon, watching hills roll by.

_Day four, we...met the caravan, right? Maybe he really did catch a cold from that dip after all? Doesn’t…make sense though..._

Skeppy twirls his hair through his fingers, hearing the teens shrieking and laughing as they play around with each other. The wagon comes to a stop, and the merchant calls back,

"Skeppy? Could you take a look at this and tell me if you can get it out of the way?"

Skeppy hops off the back of the wagon, and makes his way around to the front.  
A large tree has toppled over the road, and Skeppy winces, shaking his head,

"Not easily, no. It'll take an hour at least to cut through it and longer to roll a section large enough for the wagon. If you're willing to wait that long, and someone else here has an axe, I can work on it."  
The merchant calls on the rest of the crew, and one of them, a young man with wayward copper hair, does have an axe. They measure the wagon, and begin to line up where they'll need to start cutting.

"We need to make it wide enough to avoid catching the cloth," Skeppy murmurs, and the redhead nods, adjusting his measurements.  
Soon, they're working at it, chopping; but it's slow work, given that usually it takes far less time to cut down a tree since the tree would fall over on its own.

_Day six we…we didn’t do much, after all that chaos it was a…peaceful day..._

He's tense now, and swaying in the heat. A hand on his shoulder causes him to pause, looking over his shoulder. One of the other members of the entourage, a muscular woman, smiles gently and takes his axe from him.

"Go get a drink and rest. You look like you'll pass out," She laughs, and begins hacking at the log. Skeppy would've protested, but the moment he took a few steps, the dizziness he feels backs up her point. The redhead he was working with is also swapped out.  
He feels helpless though, and not just because he's no longer working.

It's been a week. A week, without Bad, a week where Bad could have anything happening to him. Skeppy cringes to imagine the abuse he could be undergoing right now, even.  
But Skeppy is restless alongside helpless, and his resulting solution is a nap.  
  
Can't feel unproductive and frustrated if you're unconscious, he reasons.  
He closes his eyes and forces himself to sleep, forces himself to _leave this place._

* * *

_  
He's back in the cell. Bad is slumped against the wall, and he seems to be unconscious, or at the very least barely able to maintain consciousness. He seems dehydrated and the burns have multiplied. Skeppy grinds his teeth, and kneels beside him, caressing his cheek._

_"Bad, please hold on," he begs softly, "I promise, I'll get you out of here."_

_Bad stirs under his touch, though his green eyes are still glassy and delirious.  
_ _Skeppy hears a grunting, and a piglin peeks around the corner, glancing around nervously, and scurries over to Bad, kneeling down next to him as well._

_It fidgets with its water bottle, and once the cork is out, tips Bad's chin back a bit and pours the water into his mouth. It seems a bit upset by his state, and it makes an excited snort when Bad swallows the water and makes a weak sound of acknowledgement._

_It scampers back out to its guard position, and Skeppy smiles wearily, leaning against the wall next to Bad._

_"You always find the good, don't you Darryl?" He murmurs, "If there's a spark of good, you'll somehow locate it and nurture it."  
_ _Bad moves this time, hearing his name on some level, looking from side to side in concern,_

_"Skeppy?" He whispers, and pain flares in Skeppy's heart. "Skeppy, are you there?"_

_He embraces Bad gently, and the soft whimper he hears the other make is enough to break him._

 _"I love you Darryl," he tells him, tears in his eyes, knowing he won't hear. "I love you."  
_ _And then he's wrenched awake-_

* * *

-by Sapnap kicking him in his shin. He yelps, rubbing his eyes as he comes into consciousness with a,

"Great timing, asshole..."

But he realizes that Sapnap is still asleep. He had snuggled up to Skeppy and is now squirming and thrashing in his sleep, distressed sounds escaping him.  
Skeppy hesitates only briefly before attempting to wake him up.

"Sapnap," he says urgently, "Snap out of it dude, you're having a nightmare or something. C'mon..."  
His words don't have any effect on him and neither does his gentle touch to Sapnap's shoulder. Skeppy grabs his friend's shoulders and gently shakes him a bit.

"Sapnap! You're gonna kick me again, wake up," he urges, and the younger man snaps awake, eyes wide- and faintly a different color, the wrong color. Skeppy has a second to place the color as lilac before it fades, and Sapnap lurches towards him, wrapping his arms around Skeppy as he heaves in gasping breaths, shaking. Skeppy, though confused, pats his back and holds him gently.  
He can hear him sniffling, as though crying, and Skeppy asks softly,

"Hey, are you okay?" This is met by a shake of his head and his grip tightening.  
It takes him a few minutes to calm down, but he whispers a response eventually.

"Skeppy it hurts really bad," Skeppy uneasily continues to hold him, "I can't see things right, th- the color is going weird, I'm nauseous- why now, why is this happening now? Please-"  
Skeppy cradles Sapnap to his chest, trying to reassure him in whatever way he can.

"Nick?" The other looks up with tearful dark blue eyes, the color they should be. "Why are you sick? Tell me how I can help you, please."  
He cringes at the expression on Sapnap's face when he hears the question, a look of stubborn resolution, but the hope returns when Sapnap murmurs,

"You'll hate me when I tell you. You really will." Skeppy shakes his head firmly.

"Bullshit," he almost snaps, bluntly, "Sapnap I don't hate easy. Tell me so I can help you."  
The younger goes limp in his arms, pressing his cheek to Skeppy's chest and taking a moment, seemingly to prepare.

"Well," he begins, and Skeppy waits expectantly, "I'm..."  
He's shaking, either from fear of what he's about to divulge, or from sickness; it's unclear.

"I'm from the End," he rushes out, "I'm not a human like you and the whole fucking reason I'm sick is because I've been eating too much Overworld food and it's trying to purge from my system because I'm not used to the shit. But it tastes good so I'm working on getting used to it."

Skeppy takes a full minute to even begin comprehending this. He just holds Sapnap in his arms, absently stroking his hair, and then it all comes crashing in and his mind just- SNAPS under it.  
It makes no sense, but yet sense. He begins with the first question that comes to mind,

"Is that why you were so horrified when I mentioned Ender pearls?"

Sapnap looks honestly peeved.

"So many questions on your stupid tongue and you ask that? You really are a dumbass," he mutters, but with a mildly affectionate underlay. "Yes, that's why. Because to me that's like running around with a human heart in my hands, and even though I do have one of those in my chest, the pearls are objectively more horrifying to me."  
Skeppy laughs apologetically, and then asks another question,

"When will you get better?"  
Sapnap looks nervous now.

"I...I don't really know, if I'm honest. It could be hours, or days. The only other times I've experienced this I just threw up for several minutes straight right after eating, so..."  
Skeppy sighs, and continues to stroke his hair.

"You're kinda stupid sometimes Sapnap," he affectionately tells him, "But I see why you kept it a secret. I just wish you hadn't been so aggressive over being sick because I was really worried." Sapnap flinches away a bit, his eyes now unreservedly flashing with a dangerous lilac.

"I don't need you to worry about me," he spits, glaring like a feral cat backed into a corner, "Don't you fucking START staring at me with those pity filled puppy eyes."  
Skeppy lightly whacks him on the head, and scolds him,

"Sapnap, god, I'm not gonna pity you. I was worried because I thought you were going to fucking die, okay? Have a little empathy or something like that. Now stop snarling and shit, lay down again since you decided to have a nightmare and kick the shit out of me as I was crying on my soulmate-"  
The word escapes him before he can help it, and Sapnap's angst fades in favor of curiosity.

"Soulmate?" He asks softly, "Is that what Bad really is to you?"

Skeppy closes his eyes, and thinks back.

* * *

His vision was blurry, but he could make out a figure over him. He could make out the shape of Darryl's hood, could hear his soft voice as the healer cleans his injury frantically.

"Geppy, Geppy," he whimpers, not aware that he's being heard, "You're losing too much blood, please- please, don't die on me, I don't want to lose you-"

He tugs weakly on Darryl's sleeve.

"Zak," he whispers, barely conscious, "Use my name, Darryl."

A thrill shoots through him, and he waits as Darryl wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath, before telling him quietly,

"Zak if you die right now I'm never going to forgive myself, okay? Don't you dare die on me, you muffinhead. You're too important to just die."

Warmth. He felt so warm, and hearing him say that name was like a blanket to his hazy mind.

Three letters, one syllable. But it felt so important to him.

_It's because he's saying it._

* * *

"...yeah," Skeppy admits softly, "That's exactly what he is to me."

"So you've got a soulmate," Sapnap clarifies, ignoring how he's feeling at the moment to lean forward, looking up into Skeppy's eyes to tease him, "And you've met him, and you're totally a wreck over him."

Skeppy glances off to the side again, tugging on his collar.

"...yeah. Just about." His reluctance is obvious, but Sapnap presses harder.

"How long have you known? Were you two actually together?"  
His words cause the other to flinch slightly more with each question, and he gets blunt, curt answers in return.

"I've known for a few years, or so. And no. He almost definitely didn't realize what he was to me, and if he did he didn't act on it, or didn't share feelings for me." Skeppy brushes his hair out of his eyes, and adjusts his shirt.  
He knows Bad was aware of something laying unsaid between them; the healer was far from stupid, after all. In fact, he's very intelligent, just a bit scatterbrained and eccentric, his intelligence focused into...interesting areas.

He can remember a few times where his friend had taken his rough, scarred hands in his gentle, elegant ones, cupping them tenderly, and asking him questions in a sweet tone.

_"What's wrong?"_

_"Are you okay?"_

_"You can talk to me Skeppy."_

Sometimes, rarely, he remembers him leaning in, looking up with earnest green eyes, a sweet, soft look that made his heart melt. It was a look reserved for him, and only him. Like the sweet nickname he only said without meaning to, which just made it all the more special to him.

_"Geppy!"_

So simple and dorky, and yet it warmed his heart, made him silly and stupid.

He would lean in, looking at him with that look, with that soft sweet voice,

_"Zak? Are you doing alright?"_

_"Zak, if you have anything on your mind, I'm here to listen."_

_"I don't care if you think it's dumb, I'm willing to listen to you, Zak. I like listening to you."  
  
_

He begins to bite his nails, ignoring as Sapnap asks him things, his words distant and fuzzy.

_  
"Zak, you're too important to go dying."_

_"Geppy!! Welcome home, hehe! How does it feel to have me in your house making you food?~ A nice surprise? What if it wasn't a surprise?"_

_"Skeppppppyyyyy stop it!! You're scaring me with all these risky stunts- SKEPPY GET DOWN YOU'RE GOING TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK-"_

His mind is starting to numb, and finally, as Sapnap grabs his wrist and tugs firmly, one more memory fills his mind.

* * *

They lounged in the grass, facing each other, giggling over dumb jokes. A glimmer passes through the sky, and Darryl jerks upright, his expression awestruck.

"Come here! We need to go somewhere, right now!"

Without answering Zak's questions, he pulls him along, up to a hill above the trees, a hill blanketed in small, delicate blue flowers. Darryl leads him through, a complicated dance that avoided stepping on a single flower, to the middle, a bed of grass soft beneath them.

"Bad, why here? Where is here?" He's shushed, and Darryl's eyes sparkle.

"Don't use that name," he says softly, "Call me Darryl here, it's not like anyone will hear us. Look up." Zak looks up, and narrows his eyes- and then one small streak of light, followed by another, darts through the sky. They build, more and more until the whole sky is lit by falling stars. Zak marvels, and as they fall, he hears a whispered,

"Make a wish." He does. He wishes, from the bottom of his heart, for Darryl to love him as he loves the other. For his safety. For his happiness.  
Eventually, the sky is empty indigo again, a few faint stars in the darkness, gems on velvet above the two.  
Darryl looks at him with a tentative grin.

"Did you make one?" Zak nods.

"Can't tell you what it is or it won't come true though," he teases, and Darryl's eyes sparkle.

"I made one too," he says softly, "Here's to hoping it comes true, soon."

They talk about how Darryl knew the meteor shower was going to happen, and spend hours out under the starlight, until they're both yawning, exhausted, and they stumble home, parting ways.

* * *

But now, something stands out to Skeppy. The slight part of Bad's lips, the nervous smile, and how his eyes lit up seeing Skeppy's happiness. The soft, wistful tone in his voice when he mentioned his wish.  
The longing in the concept of making a wish.

"Oh god," he says with sudden, unwelcome, clarity. Sapnap looks baffled, but Skeppy hides his face in his hands, groaning.

"Sapnap, he was in love with me. He was in love with me and dropping hints longer than even I was, and I never picked up. I thought he was the oblivious one, but it was me all along." Sapnap rolls his eyes, and punches his shoulder.

"Get this: I knew??" He retorts, "You were mooning after this guy, and he trusted you to save him, and in half your pictures, he was looking at you, not the camera, with this goofy lovestruck grin. I thought you were dating him or something, and just didn't want to tell a complete stranger that."  
Skeppy drags his hands down his face, wincing, and grumbles,

"You mean to say that when you said "my boyfriend" you thought he was legitimately my significant other and weren't just teasing?"

Sapnap nods, and Skeppy's heart sinks further. Just how long had Bad been obviously expressing romantic interest in him only for his stupid, STUPID self to miss ever hint, every single, one?

"Sapnap, this just became even more important," he utters softly, "Now it's not just "rescue the guy I'm in love with and would die for" it's "rescue my soulmate, the guy I'm in love with and have been accidentally giving the romantic cold shoulder for possibly years because I didn't realize his obvious displays of affection were more than platonic, who is also the guy I'd die for." You understand the level of urgency that is?? It is a ridiculous level of urgency and-"  
Sapnap, finally fed up with being ignored by Skeppy, gently cuffs him over the head, and exclaims,

"Jesus, stop talking so much and spacing out in the middle of my speech and answer my question! Do you remember ever actually telling him you love him? Kissing him?"

Skeppy stares at him blankly, baffled, and searches his memory.

"I- I've told him I love him plenty. I made sure to do it every night before he went home, just in case something happened to him before the morning. Kissing...I...I think there was one time where he kissed my forehead? I kissed his cheek once."

Sapnap nods, and crosses his arms, almost triumphantly.

"That's it, then. You two tapped into your bond at different times and so you both fell in love but neither was aware. Now, here's another important question." His eyes flicker with purple. Skeppy replies uncertainly,

"Uhh, sure?" Sapnap taps the necklace chain around Skeppy's neck, asking,

"Bad, did he heal quickly? Like, too quickly sometimes? Did he have a talent for working with his hands? How about moving silently or finding hidden places? And importantly- did he ever show hints of magic talent?" Skeppy protectively shoves his hand off the chain, holding it tightly.  
_This is all I have left besides the note and his belt._

"He healed very quickly," He replies, "I always chalked it up to him sometimes eating his own herbs and being a skilled medic overall. As for it being too quick? I'd say so. There was a time where he cut himself sparring with George- who began freaking out- and the cut, which bled a LOT, just was gone. By the time I got from my house, six minutes away. Just a scar left. We never questioned it."  
Sapnap's look of triumph fades into a contemplative one as Skeppy continues.

"Of course, he was skilled with his hands. He was the one performing sutures when people needed them, and I can attest that his stitches were very neat. He also made things, little ones. As for moving quietly, I nearly took his hand off half a dozen times because the guy snuck up on me and tapped my shoulder. He would just appear and disappear, and it didn't get any better after he bought that cloak from a traveling merchant. Same goes for finding things and places- we were just walking in the woods searching for a herb he wanted, and we took a left where I usually go, and he found a cave in the rock face, covered in vines. I'd never even thought to look there."  
  
For the final question, he hesitates. If he answered wrong, his answer could get Bad burned in some places.  
A twisting sensation in his gut tells him that even though he doesn't remember Bad outwardly display magic aptitude, the other had kept that a secret from him.

"...I don't remember him ever showing magic stuff. The closest was his aptitude for things like astronomy. He was very good at that." Sapnap laces his fingers, contemplating things. Contemplating his reply. He opens his mouth, only for it to slam shut as the pallor of his skin becomes more evident and he covers his mouth with both hands and lurches out of the wagon, throwing up when he can. Skeppy follows him, gently rubbing his back, attempting to comfort his friend as he retches, emptying his system of the food his body was so unused to.  
  
The woman who had taken his axe to cut the tree approaches them with a smile, pausing to give Sapnap a look of concern.

"We got the tree out of the path," She tells him, offering his axe, "You'll have to sharpen it, sorry." Skeppy accepts it, thanking her, now running a thumb over the blade in test of its sharpness. It's significantly dulled, he had needed to sharpen it before regardless.  
Sapnap finally stops gagging, and lifts his head to request weakly,

"Fuckin- water, please. Throat feels horrid."  
Skeppy dives into the wagon, grabbing the other's waterskin and handing it to him. The other empties it in seconds, relief in his sighs.

After a bit, the merchant loudly calls for the crew to regroup, and Tubbo and Tommy, along with Juko, Rach, and Ann board back into the wagon with Sapnap and Skeppy, putting an end to their conversation about Bad.  
Sapnap knows something, Skeppy is sure. Something Bad didn't talk about or didn't know himself, something _important_.  
Skeppy finds himself wondering what it could be, puzzling over it. Could Bad be a mage? That seemed to be the most likely thing, given the questions asked of him.

He banters with Tubbo while Tommy chats with Sapnap as they set off once again- only, shortly after they do so, Sapnap's eyes close, and he leans on Skeppy, much to the other's bafflement.

"Shut up, you're warm," is all he gets in response. But soon, he goes limp, sliding down into Skeppy's lap, and despite his initial confusion, Skeppy smiles softly, and runs his hands through the other's hair gently, watching the gentle rise and fall of his side for a moment before returning to his conversation.

He has more things connecting him now. Things tying him to people he wouldn't even expect.  
He and the teens know Sapnap's name, and Skeppy knows where he's from. Sapnap knows about his true feelings for Bad, about his mistake. Tubbo and Tommy know about his goal, and he knows about theirs and their origins.

A net of threads has begun to bridge his connections with others, and though he's not used to it, he can't say he _hates_ it. Though it's risky the more people know you, full of thorns to navigate, it has an oddly homey feeling to it.

You are known.

The sensation follows Skeppy into his dreams, uneasy wanderings through a purple veil, calling names out at random, hunting for someone who won't answer him. _Someone gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit the fucking post button on a thursday by accident because I'm jittery and Because I'm a nice author I won't take it away.


	10. Chapter 10

And when he wakes in the morning, there's a letter on Sapnap's back, addressed to Skeppy in...

"George," he breathes softly, taking the envelope gingerly as he examines the familiar handwriting, as though the paper will fade away any second. He makes sure to tear the portion with his name on it, into tiny pieces nobody could reconstruct, and then pulls out the paper within.

It's fine paper, he can tell- and it seems to be gilt, in a way. The ink seems to be almost faintly luminescent, gleaming a dim purple.  
He unfolds it, and begins to read his friend's scrolling loops. God, he's never been so glad to see those stupidly printed t's.

"Zak," it starts, "I know it's weird to use your name in a letter like this, but apparently I have to, plus the postal service is magic. So I trust you'll like, eat this letter once it's read."

Skeppy chuckles, knowing he's done exactly that before.

"So the basics are: when you left me in the square (no hard feelings by the way, I'll get to that) I was unconscious and almost dead from the venom those things had. I got picked up by someone from the End. He goes by Dream, but I do know his name. He nursed me back to health after abducting me to do so (he read that over my shoulder and is now telling me it's called "rescuing, not abducting George!"). It took me the better part of 4 days to recover. So once I woke up properly Dream told me about where I am (Can you guess? Apparently it's really purple. And barren.) And he's going to take me on a bit of a tour once I'm done.

So overall, I'm okay, which is why there's no hard feelings! I'm honestly better off here, I'm being doted on by my rescuer, who also happened to be a cuddler. Pretty scuffed up, yeah, but most of my injuries were healed pretty easily by the medics here. How are you? Do you have any information about Bad? I know you won't be able to answer this letter since you're not an Ender person or anything, but I feel like Bad is in a REALLY bad situation right now.

Wishing you the best,

George (Notfound :) finally got a nickname because it was a shock to hear someone else say my name)"

  
Skeppy takes it all in. He looks out to the sky. It has to be early morning, right?...  
He glances at the boy sleeping on his lap. Should he?...  
He decides for the moment to spare Sapnap. He needed his sleep. And when Skeppy began to think of waking him, he began to squirm a little, whining, and mumbling someone's name. Sounded a little like it started with K…or something like that.  
His sleep motions subside, and he nuzzles against Skeppy's stomach, humming softly.

Skeppy folds the letter back up, and tucks it into its envelope, sliding both into his bag.  
  
It's relieving to have concrete proof that George is okay, even if he's in the hands of someone Sapnap claims is a tyrannical murderer, and who George claims is...well, a cuddler who rescued him for no reason other than the fact he could.  
He frowns suddenly.

George wrote that letter, yes. But surely there's a chance he was pressured into doing so? Forced, even? He never mentioned why Dream had saved him, or anything about Dream, really. Aside from small tidbits.  
He closes his eyes, forcing away the ache in his heart when he decides to visit George in his dreams tonight.  
Once and for all checking to see if he's okay.

_He better be fucking okay or this Dream fellow is getting a wakeup visit from an angry best friend._

And he let go, drifting away towards the void of sleep, allowing it to embrace him and draw him closer to its world of dreams.

* * *

 _He can feel something wet nuzzling his hand for a moment before he's gone, and then he's touching down on cream colored stone, surveying his surroundings.  
_ _He finds George soon, balancing on the edge of the island._

 _His friend says someone's name, but it's full of static and nonsense to Skeppy.  
_ _A blond man nearby rests a hand on George's shoulder. Grey wings flutter on their backs._

_"-should I really just jump like this? It's not the same as the training grounds." Skeppy's brain tunes out the name each time he hears George say it, and he just accepts this._

_"Of course George, come on. If I shove you this time you could die, just aim for that little island there."  
_ _Dream, or who Skeppy assumes is Dream, points to a small island, and George nods, swallowing heavily. The blond isn't looking down either, Skeppy notes. He watches with a numb sense of confusion and horror as his friend takes a step into nothingness, his familiar shriek escaping him before the wings flare open, and he glides to safety.  
_ _He points back accusingly at Dream,_

_"It's your turn!! Come on!"_

_"But if I fly over there, I can't catch you when you come back," Dream points out, and George curses._

_"Stupid," he mumbles, as Skeppy floats closer, "Fine! But you better CATCH me! And maybe even carry me~"  
_ _George's flirtatious tone catches Skeppy off guard, but he supposes that...perhaps it makes sense. That he would have more of a connection to this Dream.  
  
_ _With only slightly less hesitation this time, George jumps off, gliding over to the other side, right into the waiting arms of his companion, who delightfully lifts him, twirling a few times._

_"Look! I did it, and didn't drop you!"_

_Their laughter blends together, and Skeppy finds a soft smile on his face.  
_ _George is happy. George is safe. That's what he wanted to know.  
_ _He floats over to George, and leans down, whispering,_

_"Hey, George. I got your letter this morning. Glad to see you're okay."_

_George's surprised expression as he looks around for the voice is the last thing Skeppy sees before he wakes up..._

* * *

...to Tommy braiding his hair with deftness that surprises him.

"See, when 'e wakes up, 'e'll 'ave a bunch of these in his hair, yeah?" The blond explains to Tubbo, who is busy with Sapnap, who is festooned with flower crowns. "And 'e's sure to be right pissed with me, if 'e figures it out."  
Skeppy decides, closing his eyes before they can notice, that perhaps he'll let them get away with their pranks.  
He can hear their laughter as they softly chatter. They deserve some fun on this journey, and he's not about to put the kibosh on some harmless, cute pranks.

He waits till Sapnap stirs, sitting up and dumping some flowers from his hair (the rest are braided and woven, along with the flower crowns.)  
He seems confused, and then glances at Skeppy, snickering, and shakes him gently to rouse him. Skeppy opens one eye, grinning wryly.

"Skeppy," Sapnap informs him, "You look like a fucking disaster. Your hair is all braided and full of flowers and-"  
He pauses, and realizes his own isn't much better. Skeppy laughs, and asks,

"Do you have a camera? I need pictures of us."  
Sapnap shakes his head, and Rach, from the corner, offers,

"I do." Their voice is soft and it makes both the men jump, turning to look at them. "It's a mage camera, though, I enchanted it myself. Would you like me to take a photo for you?"  
They hold it up, and Skeppy can make out a smile on their face.

"Yes, please!" He replies cheerfully, and pulls Sapnap close for the pictures. They snap a few, and as the photos drift down, they hand them to Skeppy.

"Your friend is very cute when he's asleep with flower crowns on his head," they smile, dark eyes full of amusement.  
Skeppy thanks them, and they return to their corner, quietly doing whatever it is they do.  
 _We're traveling with a mage, then? Unsurprising, given their description and nature._

He shows Sapnap the photos, giggling, and Sapnap groans at one.

"Look, my eyes are all glowy," he pouts, pointing at how his eyes are reflective in SPECIFICALLY that one image. Skeppy examines it.

"I dunno, it looks kinda nice actually," he replies, "Like, it suits it. You're not doing that red eyed thing most people do at least."  
Sapnap shrugs, and the two of them set to removing the braids from each other's hair. Sapnap pulls one of his flower crowns off and sets it on Skeppy's head as they chatter through their endeavors.  
Eventually it comes to a halt, and Skeppy hesitates.

"Hey, can you send letters back through the postal service of, where you're from?" He asks, and Sapnap shakes his head.

"It's a one way service. We usually just get someone to do it, since they're the ones who can travel the distance safely."  
He pantomimes an Enderman, and Skeppy nods in understanding. They're surrounded by flowers, their hair no longer held by the stems. The boys had put in so much effort that it was honestly kinda saddening to remove it all. They leave the wagon, searching around for them to congratulate them on their prank; Skeppy had told Sapnap about how he caught them, and neither of them had the heart to be mad at them.

They soon find them in a field of wildflowers, Tubbo laying on his tummy watching a bee drift flower to flower, and Tommy in a tree, surveying the area.

"-think there are beehives aroun' 'ere, Tubbo. There's so few bees anyway," Tommy is saying as they get closer, scampering down once he sees them. Tubbo, noticing they're both wearing his crowns, grins.

"You kept them!" He cheers, and Tommy adds in disappointment,

"You took out all the braids, though...those took a lot of time!!"  
Sapnap chuckles and Skeppy grins.

"You guys did a great job, I'll admit," he says cheerfully, handing them one of the photographs, "We even got some mementos!"

Tubbo takes it reverently, almost, and looks down at the picture, beginning to laugh, and Tommy looks over, before guffawing, slapping his leg.  
The older two exchange knowing looks and slight smiles, enjoying the laughter of the duo.  
The four of them make their way back to the wagon soon, chatting. Tommy explains how the merchant stopped to make sure the horses were watered, along with trading information with another traveler going the other way. By the time they're back, the others have also regrouped, and are settled around the wagon.

They wave Skeppy and his group over, holding up food with a cheer, and a warmth blossoms in the hunter's chest.  
He hasn't known them long at all, yet they've become company, a group with which he can laugh and joke, talk.

He's not thought about it before, but he's a trusting person. He used to believe it took more to get under his shell- but in Bad's absence, he's seeing how much the other influenced him.  
Everyone has a story, and Bad wanted to hear each and every one. He was convinced that if you let someone talk, let someone bare their soul, you'd have friends, people who would remember you, all around the map.

He believed that what it took to befriend someone was just...to try.

Skeppy hadn't thought about it. He never saw friendship that way, seeing it more like kinship in a way, but seeing how first Sapnap, and then this whole group of ragtag caravan members had wormed through his shields, he began to contemplate it again.

Something happy is starting to take the place of the warmth, when he looks at Sapnap especially.

_I have a friend. I have friends? He's my friend, and I think the others are too. Is it that easy? Is it like Bad said?_

Seven, eight days. That's all he's known Sapnap for and it's all it's taken for him to grow attached.  
He hates it on one level, but on most levels, he's giggly and excited, like a child with a new toy, or more accurately, a new friend.

Sapnap catches him staring and teases him, leading to a play fight between them, ending with both covered in dust and the flower crowns safely removed to the bench as they laugh, brushing off the dust from each other where the other can't reach.  
Before today and the realizations it brought, Skeppy would've been content to say that he had two friends in the whole world.  
But remembering how Sapnap had replied when Skeppy expressed how he hoped the other's agenda wouldn't get in between them being friends, and his reply, he can say for sure that he has three now.

It's a weird feeling, to be known. Yet, some part of Skeppy strains and snaps, towards the feeling as it desperately seeks it out.

_I think...that I might want more friends after all._

  
His face hurts from smiling, he's dizzy from laughing, but by dusk, he's a contented kind of exhausted (and ever so slightly tipsy).  
Sapnap, significantly more drunk than him, smooches his cheek and declares nonsensically,

"Iiiiiitt'z not gay if the mans's got dem sockers on!"  
He doesn't mind, laughing along with his giddy friend, punching him gently. He does worry that the alcohol might harm Sapnap's delicate system though, after all, Overworld food...

The four of them- the two teens, Skeppy, and Sapnap- pass out in a big pile, Sapnap once more snoozing contentedly on Skeppy's lap while the other two lean on each other and his side.  
He thinks that maybe, he could get used to this. Maybe, it could become...home, in a way.

Maybe, he could be happy on the remaining days of the journey to the city.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I'm spoiling you guys, just because I fucked up and clicked the post button doesn't mean I shouldn't give you guys your proper weekly upload :pensive:

Bad coughs, hacking ash out of his lungs. It's almost impossible to breathe without inhaling some, and he's dizzy, sick from the heat and the pain in his side, the burning of the brands that's starting to slowly fade away.

He didn't look at them, he didn't want to know what was burned into his skin. He wanted to cry, to curl up and hide from them so they couldn't hurt him any more- at this point he was willing to serve them. He was willing to do whatever it took to prevent him from experiencing the pain again. Twice was two times too many for his body.

He can feel the tension in his side gradually releasing. He assumes he's finally getting used to it.  
But when the brute returns to drag him out once again, it narrows its eyes and growls at him, hefting him by his wrists,

"What did you do? What magecraft is this?"  
Bad yelps, and begins to whimper, dangling compliantly as the brute shakes him.

"I-I didn't do- I didn't do anything, I swear! I don't know what you're asking me!"  
His earnest reply is met with another shake, and a finger jabbing his side where the burns litter his skin.  
 _Had_ littered his skin.

"They're gone," the brute snarls, "You don't have any scars or anythin'. It's magecraft. Who did this? Are you the mage?" Bad begins to shake his head, terror closing his throat.  
He wasn't! He had never been trained, never showed any magical aptitude. He wasn't a mage!  
Despite this, he can't open his mouth to tell him, can't explain anything. He can't tell him to please stop pulling so hard on his arms, that it really hurts.  
He can only limply allow himself to be manhandled, afraid of worse consequences.

"Mages are uncommon," the brute finally concludes his manhandling, seeing Bad won't talk. "And they are dangerous. Do you know what we do to lying, sneaky mages?"

"I'm not a mage," Bad's voice cracks, breaking, and his eyes are filled with tears of both pain and fear. This earns him another shake.

"The burns are gone and nobody else is in your fucking cell, don't play dumb," it snarls, spitting in his face with the force of its words. Bad can hear his heartbeat, and feel it in every part of his body. Adrenaline is flooding him uselessly, since he refuses to fight back and risk being hurt worse or heaven forbid, killed.

"Well, we break them," the brute continues. Bad begins to shake, his body cold despite the heat around him. "We push them until their foul magic leaves them. We don't fight alongside mages anymore, you're all traitors as far as we're concerned. Filthy, conniving, traitors."

_Break them.  
  
_ Bad's mind begins to run wild with what this could mean, each new possibility worse than the last. He doesn't know how he healed like that! He _didn't do it!  
_ The brute begins to haul him into the hall again, and behind its back, the piglin guard taps Bad's back, the terrified human wrenching his head around to look back at it.  
It offers him a faint smile, and holds up the pocket watch for a second; a reminder of their bargain, their alliance. It tucks it away and resumes standing, but it's a small reassurance to Bad.

He follows along meekly, knowing if he stops he'll just be dragged anyways. He loses track of the way after a while; it's just winding halls of nether brick, the heat of lava all around them, the soft trills of distant Ghasts drifting through the windows and the unwelcome sound of magma cubes bouncing atop the roof. They pass a tall, ashen skeleton, its stone sword honed to an edge Bad wouldn't have thought possible. Despite his certainty that he isn't a mage, he can feel a darkness coming from the sword, like a plague that leeches away the life of whatever it touches, withering all living things alike.  
It follows him with empty eyesockets, staring through him hauntingly. He has no doubt that it would cut his throat given the chance, leave him to slowly drain of life on the dark maroon bricks.

Down. They start to go down, and he can hear bubbling lava all around him, and-

_Screams. He hears voices.  
_ He can hear other humans. Other people. Not many at first, but he can hear a crescendo of begging, screaming, sobbing. It builds in his head, getting louder and louder and louder until it's all he can hear.

_"Please I have a family-"_

_"I'm too young to die!"_

_"It's dark, it's dark, it's too dark!"_

_"No! Anything but that, please!"_

He stumbles into the abrasive bricks, scraping his cheek, and snaps back into his surroundings. No voices.  
Bad looks around nervously, certain of it. He had heard people- many, many people, all scared like him, all crying out, begging for mercy and for it to just end.  
However, the halls are dark and silent, the only sounds the clinking of chains dragging over the floor, the brute's armor clanking, and Bad's own stumbling footsteps.  
They veer left, to an empty, pitch black room. Bad can't see the bottom, and he's sure that even if he had his glasses, it would still be the same liquid darkness. He resists, struggling, as he's pushed towards the entry.

He hates it. Hates the sight of it, hates how the air itself almost feels humid, hates the rancid scent, hates how the door will shut out all the light.  
His resistance amounts to nothing as he's tossed in like a ragdoll, landing on cold, smoothly cut stone several feet below.  
  
The door slams, leaving Bad in the darkness. His body aches from his landing, and he sits up, not wanting to move. God, he's scared to move around.  
He doesn't want to feel his way around this place, for fear of what he might touch.  
The cell is silent. He can't hear the chains anymore, can't hear footsteps, or lava, or even Ghasts. It's just suffocating, lifeless silence.  
It's pressing in around him, a claustrophobic nothingness that presses in as though collapsing, and he can feel the panic rising in him.  
  
He can't see. He can't hear. He pulls his knees to his chest, hugging himself tightly. He can feel. He can feel. He can-  
He's going numb, his mind scrambled as he shudders, whimpering, and succumbs, crying, his voice shaking and shrill.

"Please," nobody will come, nobody will help, "Please, let me out! I can't, I can't breathe in here, it's crushing me- please!"  
Nobody answers. He knew they wouldn't, but he sobs anyway, beating his hand on the ground to feel something, to hear something, to know there's something.  
He abandons his caution, crawling towards the wall, desperate for a little light, trying to find the crack between the door and the floor.  
He can't explain his terror, but this place makes him feel strangled, like someone is slowly cutting off his air, cut adrift into a void with no oxygen, no life.

There's something under his hand, something crunchy and dehydrated and-

He can't stop it when he realizes, bile climbs his throat and he begins scrambling back from the body he had just plunged his hand into. He shakes his hand, trying to get rid of the nonexistent clinging sensation.  
He begs for the owner of the body to forgive him, he didn't mean to disturb it, he didn't want to.  
Finally, he's exhausted, his panic subsided only because his body can no longer handle it.  
He's curled into a tiny ball, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that he sees stars behind his lids.

The only light he can imagine in here.

Bad wants to get out now, he wants out so much. He doesn't know what they'll do to him, but he knows that if he stays in this place too long, he'll lose his mind.  
That's the purpose, he realizes eventually, this cell is designed to drive people insane.  
He wonders how many other bodies are in with him. He has the sickening thought that the rancid scent he had smelled before was bodies slowly heating up and undergoing some form of mummification.

It's hot in here after all.  
He tries to shut his mind off. He wants to shut down.

_Please let me out!  
_ His voice is hoarse by now, broken from his useless screams. All he got in response was his own shrill voice echoing back, mockingly, reminding him of how alone he is.  
After what feels like forever, an eternity, hours and hours of just curling up into himself, within his safe circle where he knows there aren't bodies, Bad finally passes out. He's gone, but something is different.

* * *

_He can see wood, hear the creak of wheels. And he can see him, see Skeppy. He's leaned against a sack of something, a younger man with tanned skin and dark hair slumped against his shoulder, asleep.  
_ _Bad could cry.  
_ _He wobbles over to him, kneeling over his friend's lap, cupping his cheeks and begging him softly,_

_"Skeppy, please hurry. I don't know how much longer I- I don't know how long I can go, before I lose my mind."  
_ _He feels the other's hand pass through him, as though he tried to put his own hand on top of Bad's, and though his beautiful dark eyes stare right through Bad, Bad pretends he's looking at him. He just wants to believe that someone will save him from this place._

_"It was okay before the darkness," he whispers, his grip slipping away and his consciousness fading into sleep.  
_ _His last thought is hoping he won't wake up in that place._

_Anywhere but that place._

* * *

There's a horrible ache in his body when he wakes up though, and he wonders for a little while if he actually did. He wonders if he's already dead. Is this hell?  
There's nothing else in the cell but him and the bodies. In the Overworld, there would be rats and bugs and other things, but in here it's just filled with the stench of death and...

Bad realizes with dread that he'll have to use the bathroom eventually.  
He cringes at the thought, not wanting to make this cell more horrible than it is already.  
He traces circles on the stone with his fingers, idly trying to ignore the sensation of unease and fear the darkness evokes.  
His eyes are more used to it than when he was first thrown in, but he can't say he can see anything except...

Bad narrows his eyes at the wall, and his heart leaps, realizing there's the tiniest sliver of light from under the door.

Something to break the darkness. Something he can focus on, ground himself with.  
His relief is temporary though, since he hears a crackling, snapping noise, and the familiar but horrifying sound of clanking bones as one of the bodies (he assumes) lurches up, searching for him.  
Smooth, cold bones brush Bad's skin, and he screams, punching it blindly, struggling to fight it off.  
He hears something snap, and throws another punch, and another, until he realizes he's broken its ribcage apart, snapped its spine, and sent the skull rolling.  
He hurls it at the far wall, just for good measure.  
  
"Only recently dead become zombies or skeletons," he says aloud to himself, shakily, "Only recently dead. There shouldn't be any others in here. I just need to stay alert."  
Stay alert. One would think it's easy to do that, in a place that makes you so horribly on edge, so terribly afraid, but the fear makes your head fuzzy, and after a whole the edginess fades into a weird, dim sense of acceptance.

It takes a long time for that though- he thinks. Bad has no sense of time here, not even the changing guards to track time, nothing.  
He lays on the floor, staring up. Guards. He wants to bang on the door, call out, try to attract his piglin ally, but he doesn't know if they can do much for him.

"I need to try anyway," he says, and calls up, "Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?" No answer comes, but he paces back and forth, counting aloud to himself as the time passes, calling out every thirty minutes or so.  
It takes hours, but finally, the door shudders open with a dragging sound and something cloth hits the floor before the door is closed quickly.  
Bad thanks his lucky stars, knowing the piglin likely risked its life just opening that door. He unwraps the bundle, fumbling with the ties, and feels it.  
A bottle of water. And...he thinks that's bread. He knows he'll have to stretch this, since god knows when the piglin will be able to get him more supplies.

But what sends him into joyous giggles of broken relief, is a matchbox and a candle. He's so anxious striking it that he almost tears the skin on his finger, but finally it's done. He hefts it, looking around.  
Bodies are strewn around him, as he feared. Humans, piglin, indiscriminately piled up. He begins to, despite the bile in his throat, move them, lining them up on the right side of the room, all in one place. His flame goes out close to him being done, and he steels himself to finish the task.

Overall, there are around ten bodies in the cell with him. He counts, aloud, as he moves them, and when he's finally done, he tucks his supplies against the wall closest to the door, out of sight, and kneels down near the corpses, taking a breath, and beginning the blessing he usually uses to send off the dead.

Nobody else would have done this for these poor forsaken souls, after all.

So it was only right he did.


	12. Chapter 12

This time, it's Skeppy who jerks awake from Bad's plight, not with a scream like George, but with a whimper, in a cold sweat.  
He looks around the wagon, searching for any explanation of the touch he had certainly felt. Not finding anyone, he leans back, and then realizes- he's not finding anyone touching him. Including Sapnap, who had fallen asleep leaned against him, but is now gone.  
Skeppy closes his eyes, leaning on his hand.

_...He probably is sick again._

Slowly, he inches out to the darkness outside of the wagon, looking around for the other.  
There's nothing but a smoke-tinged breeze that blows through, causing Skeppy to cough softly.  
He searches around the wagon for his friend, and after several minutes, he finds nothing, no sign of him.

As he heads back into the wagon though, he collides with someone who seemed to be running- and of course, it's Sapnap, who yelps before sprawling back, covering his mouth, luminescent eyes wide and rapidly dimming to blue once more.

"Sapnap, what the fuck?" Skeppy hisses, pulling him to his feet, "Why were you-"  
Sapnap punches his arm, none too gently, and holds a finger to his lips. He points in the direction he'd come from, and Skeppy stiffens, seeing some outlines of staggering zombified beings that had invaded the village. Sapnap drags him into the wagon, and whispers,

"They're mostly blind. They hunt by touch, sound and vibrations. I had to go out when I was throwing up, and I saw them up there. I think they're after the kids. So shhhhh."  
Skeppy clamps his mouth shut, watching them stagger by. He does whisper to Sapnap,

"Shouldn't we kill them? They could kill some innocent traveler and that would be horrible."  
Sapnap shrugs.

"We're not the ones getting eaten in that scenario."  
The other's selfish, amoral take on it stings, and Skeppy draws his sword.

"They're easy to kill, it won't be hard," he insists, and Sapnap grabs his wrist in a virtual chokehold.

"If you kill them, they'll know that we were here, and that the targets are also here," he growls, "They'll send more. The risk of some travelers getting their faces ripped off is nothing compared to the situation of us actually being targeted for protecting them."  
Skeppy grumbles, the idea of allowing them to roam freely and wreak havoc as they please not sitting well with him.  
But he has to admit Sapnap has a point, after all...he isn't ready to fight against something powerful. He pauses.

"...why would he send people after those two?" Something about it doesn't make sense, doesn't seem clear cut enough for him. "Weren't they _friends?"  
_ Sapnap's mouth curves into a wry grin, and he says quietly,

"Go to sleep, Skeppy. Don't trouble your pretty head over this all, I've got it handled."

The condescending tone he uses is a gauntlet thrown down between them; a challenge, a dare, tempting him to snap back and fight Sapnap, and at the same time, he knows he should let it go. Let sleeping dogs lay and all that.  
He swallows his pride and mutters an insult to himself, curling back into his position, hand now on his dagger.  
  
Ready to draw if needed.  
  
For some reason, the way Sapnap perches, silhouetted by the dim light outside, sets Skeppy on edge. They're friends, but somehow Skeppy has no doubt that if Sapnap needed to kill him to fulfill his goal, he would be dead on the ground in an instant.  
His friend has a grey moral code at best, he concludes, closing his eyes, drifting back into an uneasy sleep.  
He dreams of mouths full of fangs, dripping saliva, and creatures lurking.  
He feels like at some point he opens his eyes to see something staring at him, but it's hard to tell- his dreams are oddly real and uncomfortable.

* * *

  
Skeppy comes to in the morning to feel a little tongue lapping at his cheek; he's slumped to the ground in his sleep, and Fundy is insistently licking his cheek in an effort to rouse him. Tubbo is tugging on his shirt, frantically babbling,

"Skeppy, I, there was, something went bad, I don't know where anyone is, please wake up, I don't know what happened or if anyone is alive, I only saw Sapnap and, and-"  
Skeppy sits up, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"It smells like smoke, are things burning?" He asks softly, and Tubbo nods. "How long ago did you see Sapnap?"

"Uh, ten minutes, he was running out to find Tommy I think!"  
Skeppy hesitates, but pulls the extra sword and sheath from his bag. He had sharpened it back to a fine edge on the journey.  
He tosses it onto Tubbo's lap, much to the other's surprise.

"Skeppy?" He asks, and Skeppy stands slowly, stretching.

"Come on Tubbo, we're gonna go find our friends."  
Tubbo stares at the sword, and then looks back at him, nodding reluctantly. He slings the strap over his shoulder, awkward and uncertain; Skeppy nods since he has it in the right position.  
They exit the wagon, Tubbo lifting Fundy in his arms so the fox can keep up with them.  
Skeppy shields his gaze, staring at the fire lapping around them, and curses.

"This must be because of that forest fire from before," he breathes softly, "Some of the sparks must have drifted up here and set the grass on fire. Tubbo, grab food from the wagons, and then book it out to safety. I'll look for the others. If you get cornered or something scream and I'll try to find you as soon as I can."  
Tubbo, glancing back to the as of yet untouched wagon, nods, and drops the fox. Fundy lands with a bark, and dashes away, out to safety from the growing blaze.  
Skeppy on the other hand bolts into it, searching for the footprints that would've surely been left if Sapnap was running.  
  
Eventually he hears a voice calling out, shrieking practically.  
It's faint over the crackling of the flames, and he can't see much as he shields his face from the blistering heat.  
Despite the hypnotic waving of the flames, Skeppy tears his gaze away, stumbling towards the voice to find Tommy struggling along, half carrying, half dragging an unconscious Sapnap.

"Fuckin', finally," the youth gasps, "I thought you had kicked it or something. 'Elp me with this bloody idiot. He just conked out and I've been dragging his heavy ass for minutes."  
Skeppy wraps his arms around Sapnap, hefting the unconscious man into a carry, and gestures. Tommy follows.

"Tubbo was back at the wagon, I told him to grab food then run," Skeppy explains, and Tommy glares at him.

"He better be safe."

The blond's threatening tone makes Skeppy laugh softly.  
 _He thinks he knows so much, acts so confident, but he's scared as shit.  
_ Without answering Tommy's questions of "Are you laughing at me?? You wanna fight?!" Skeppy leads the way back to the wagons, the flames only getting closer and closer.  
The paths he had taken are now burning, and he nearly trips over something, someone, who he realizes with a lurch is one of the crew members, not breathing and badly burned.

 _We can't save everyone!  
_ He presses on, swallowing down his guilt and bile, until they stumble into the still-untouched area around the wagons.  
Tubbo is gone, and Skeppy waves.

"Tommy, can you grab Sapnap's pack?" He asks, and Tommy nods.  
He breaks off to dip into the wagon, returning with the pack, and by then Skeppy has spotted a pair of footprints leading away, roughly the right size to be Tubbo's trail.

"This way," he coughs, only now noticing that Tommy seems to have no issues breathing in the burning, smoke-filled air.  
Skeppy on the other hand is choking and sputtering by now, his lungs aching and sore from the air.  
They stumble away from the blaze slowly, away into the clear air, on small paths just barely unconsumed.  
It's a struggle to breathe the colder air after the scorching air within the heart of the blaze, but Skeppy sucks in a welcome breath, and calls out,

"Tubbo? Tubbo??"

No answer at first, and he's getting ready to set down Sapnap and go bolting into the fire once again when he hears it from further down the hill, Tubbo's soft voice calling out an answer.  
And so he stumbles and Tommy sprints, down the hill, to where Tubbo is crouched, surrounded by small packages of various foods and other things.  
  
Immediately Tommy hurls himself at the brunet, hugging him tightly.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his gruff tone leaking away, "Any injuries? Is Fundy a'ight too?"  
Tubbo nods, shakes his head, then nods again, and hugs his friend in return.

"What about you?" Tommy replies to the question by pointing to a scrape on one cheek and a portion of his leggings that had been burned away, allowing his skin to be slightly scorched.

"Other 'n than I'm in tiptop condition," Tommy attests, and Skeppy says urgently,

"We need to get moving, if we move fast enough, we can get ahead of the flames and keep heading to the city before it catches up. Once Sapnap's awake I'll fill him in but for now do you mind carrying his pack? Tubbo, I'll show you how to use that sword if you don't know already."  
A look passes between the teens as they release each other, and Tubbo nods, while Tommy retorts,

"You're carrying the whole man, the bag is nothing."  
They set to gathering the food, and Skeppy watches the fire anxiously, knowing how rapidly it will spread. But thankfully, they're able to set off soon, running around the perimeter of the flames, getting ahead to where the heat can't be felt.  
There's a bitter taste in Skeppy's mouth, and he feels...sad.

He feels like he's lost something, and glancing between the boys as he adjusts his hold on Sapnap (who is coming to) he realizes that of course, the sense of companionship and belonging he had felt with the caravan was now torn asunder, the wagons abandoned in the midst of the growing inferno.

He pushes the ache away, and as he feels Sapnap kicking his feet slightly and hears his friend cough, borderline whining to be put down, he lifts him and set him on his feet.  
Sapnap looks baffled for a moment, until seeing the fire behind them and the road ahead, and putting it together a little.  
Tommy hands him his pack wordlessly, and Skeppy says in a curt tone,

"You passed out before you could get Tommy to safety, but I found him and we got you out." He takes a soft breath, informing him, "We're on our own now, Sapnap."  
And he catches the younger man's eyes glistening with tears, but Sapnap only replies with,

"And that's probably for the best."  
He adjusts the pack and begins to walk forward, leaving the other three to follow.  
The journey for the next day is dreary, their silent grief heavy around them. Skeppy can tell that Tubbo in particular seems to have taken the loss of the group hard- he befriended most of them after all. Tommy seems weary, but like this was expected, just another loss in a series of such.  
Sapnap though...

He looks ahead, away from their campsite. It had taken a long time to get safely ahead of the fire, and they hadn't set up camp for a night, instead just walking on, taking the night of sleeplessness over the risk of being crisped.  
Sapnap is perched atop a rock, surveying the area as he sharpens his sword. The rhythmic way he strops is interesting, because Skeppy knows how easily one can use that motion to soothe themselves.

Speaking of swords, however...  
He tosses a branch to Tubbo.

"We'll be sparring again, and more frequently," he informs the youth as he catches the branch with a yelp. "We gotta get your skills up before I start letting you come at me with an actual blade, I don't want anyone getting stabbed."  
Tubbo looks at the stick, and then at Skeppy, concerned.

"Am I- do you just want me to come at you?" Skeppy moves behind him, gently adjusting his stance and hold on the mock sword.

"No," Skeppy laughs, "If you just came at me, it wouldn't do any good for either of us. Okay, this is the basic stance. If you swing a sword wrong? You felt how heavy it was, right? You'll wrench your muscles and it hurts like fuck, I can speak to that."  
He holds up his own branch, and mimics the position he guided Tubbo into.

"Now, watch closely." He demonstrates a few swings and stabs, nothing too complex. Tommy, a defiant look, joins them with his own stick, following along.  
Skeppy watches as they repeat his motions, gradually getting the hang of it.

"Alright, now I'm going to show you how to parry," he says, and draws his sword, pointing to it as he speaks, "See the flat of the blade and the edge of it?" The teens nod, watching and listening closely, "Some people think you're only supposed to catch your opponent's blade with the side of the blade, but if you do that, you'll end up with a blade filled with notches from the impacts. So if you can it's best to avoid hitting the edge."  
He drops the stick for the moment, and demonstrates the motions he describes,

"So your opponent comes in for a swing, and you want to block them. What you do if possible is angle your sword to block with the flat." He twists, blocking an imaginary blow. "But of course, it's not always possible or a good option. Say they come in like this," he swings differently this time, "And your only option is the edge. You go like this and catch it."  
Again he twists to block the imagined version of the swing he demonstrated. Tommy bounces on the balls of his feet eagerly, clearly anticipating trying it himself, while Tubbo studies calmly.

"Now, your sticks don't have an edge and a flat, but let's do this." He takes the branches and cuts an X and a line into them, "The X is your flat, the line the edge. Now..."  
He picks his stick back up, and readies himself.

"Come at me, one of you. Try to "kill" me with your stick."  
Tommy doesn't hesitate, hurtling in with his stick at the ready. His first, second, and third swings are parried and dodged by Skeppy, and the fourth, Skeppy neatly ducks under and Tommy finds the stick under his chin.

"You're dead," Skeppy declares. "Your footwork was sloppy, but the bigger issue is how open you left yourself. If I wasn't teaching you how to parry, I could've stabbed you every time you swung." Tommy's head droops a little as the other stands back, but he quickly gets over his disappointment. "Now, block my attacks. Tubbo, watch the difference between mine and Tommy's swings alright?"  
He readies himself, waiting for Tommy to as well, and then approaches with a casual set of swings. Tommy blocks two or three, the resounding crack of wood on wood echoing through their camp.

After a few more attempts with Tommy, Skeppy shifts to Tubbo, instructing him the same way.  
His fighting style turns out to be more cautious than Tommy's, more protective of himself. But he too, ends up with Skeppy leaning close in and telling him,

"If this was a sword, your lungs would be punctured Tubbo."  
He steps back, looking at them.

"You two have a ways to go, but you'll learn. Now, here. Don't attack anyone, just practice the sets I showed you." He hands the sword to Tubbo, and tells Tommy, "I'm going to show you how to shoot a bow and throw knives, so don't get salty."  
Sapnap slides down, coming over, and he puts a hand on Tubbo's shoulder, telling him quietly,

"Use your other hand to stabilize your swing. You're relying too much on one wrist." Skeppy smiles at him, and Sapnap looks off dismissively.

The situation seems to have depressed him a bit, and though Skeppy is sure he'll get over it soon, he's also not really too keen on having to handle the other sulking...but what can he really do? If Sapnap wants to sulk, he can only really let the other do so, and wait it out.

Tommy seems very enthusiastic about the idea of shooting things and throwing sharp things, however, so Skeppy doesn't get much time to contemplate Sapnap's state. At least he's recovered from his illness earlier, and doesn't seem to be having many other issues.  
He takes Tommy by the wrist and leads him a bit away, and uses his dagger to cut a target into a tree.

"Now," he warns, "you can throw just about any knife, but that doesn't mean it will _work_. Throwing knives are weighted and intended to be thrown. I want you to be careful with mine, because I'm not going to teach you how to throw using Bad's. But when he's been rescued, he's one of the best knife throwers I know, and I'm sure he'd be up to teach you a few more tricks."  
Tommy nods, and impatiently asks,

"So when am I gonna get to the stabbing things bit?" Skeppy rolls his eyes, and draws his knife. Now, he doesn't usually use it as a _throwing knife_ \- though it is weighted for such, he uses it as a discrete close-range weapon. They're just as good for stabbing as for throwing, after all.  
As such, he has only two on his person.

"Watch, closely," he orders, and draws back, lining up his target and carefully hurling the blade towards it. He's a bit off, hitting the outer ring, and Tommy remarks,

"Little off there, innit?" Skeppy shrugs.

"Bows are definitely easier for me," he admits, "But you should get an even ranged skillset that doesn't hinge on everything from ammo to the wind, mhm?"

"Why ranged?" Tommy inquires, confused, and Skeppy laughs and informs him,

"You're not very good at hand to hand, dude. So if you can learn protect Tubbo from a distance, along with learning hand to hand combat, you'll be set. I've seen Tubbo use his sling, he knows what he's doing, but I'll teach him archery if he wants to know." Tommy looks momentarily offended, but contemplates it.

"...Y'know that actually makes sense," he says begrudgingly. Skeppy retrieves his knife, and places the hilt in Tommy's hand, and gently guides him through the motion.

"Alright, give it a go," he instructs, and takes several steps away warily. Tommy hurls it, and it hits the target, glancing off into the grass. He turns excitedly,

"Didja see that?! I hit it! First try!" Skeppy laughs, and congratulates him.

"That's pretty impressive, I'm not gonna lie! You might have an aptitude for this. Now go find it and try again, see if you can get it to stick in the tree this time."  
Tommy sets off to search the ground for the knife, and returns to his position, triumphantly aiming the knife and hurling it again. It bounces off once more, but he points with a shout of,

"I made a mark!! Do you see? It's a little notch or something, in the bark!"  
Skeppy feels a faint glow of pride at Tommy's excitement, and ruffles his hair, grinning.

"You did! Keep going, next up is archery. I think you'll find it easy peasy."  
Tommy makes dozens more throws, some (horrible ones) with his left hand after Skeppy teases him a bit. Finally, Skeppy decides,

"That's enough. Let's move onto archery. Now, I have a special recurve bow, not a shortbow or a longbow. And don't even bother considering hunting bows for combat, they're not any good. Crossbows are a totally different kind and I don't know how to use them, so we'll be working with this one."  
He digs into his bag, and pulls out the pieces of the bow, much to Tommy's confusion. Skeppy grins, and begins to lock them in place, soon stringing the bow with a chuckle.

"It's also a convenient bow for someone who doesn't use one much, except for hunting. Now, you hold it like this," he demonstrates, "But you need to be CAREFUL with the string. Not only can it hurt like a motherfucker if it snaps against your hand or wrist, but if you don't pull it to the right distance, you can shoot yourself in the foot. And by that I mean drop an arrow on your foot, or actually shoot yourself."

He pulls out the quiver, and nocks an arrow, taking aim for the target.  
Tommy's eager gaze following his actions, he pulls back and releases, sending an arrow neatly into the target, not a bullseye but close.  
Tommy stares at the arrow, almost ogling it, and Skeppy retrieves it.

"Do you know anything about using a bow?" He asks the blond, who shakes his head and at the same time replies,

"Nah. Only ever used a little hunting bow this one time to shoot a Ghast away from our home."  
Skeppy points out,

"That's something, isn't it? Alright, here." He hands him the bow, and begins to walk him through how to hold it, how to nock, and draw. Despite the other's overenthusiasm, he proves to be a good student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter technically should've been a lot longer but I _did not want a 4000 word chapter_
> 
> Also I'd like to thank you guys so much for nearly 140 kudos (possibly more by the time this is posted!) and all your comments <3 It's greatly appreciated and makes me really happy~  
>  ~~and thank you to my poor beta readers who are suffering this fic at warp speed~~  
>  In other notes, I'd like to work on another two Skephalo ideas I've got, and was curious what you guys think: Hurt/Comfort two parter, or Mermaid Bad/Fisherman Skeppy?


	13. Chapter 13

"You're still leaving your left open," Sapnap instructs calmly, strafing out of the way of Tubbo's swing. "See?" He whacks the other gently with the stick, producing a yelp.

Tubbo rubs his eye, yawning.

"I'm not very good at this, I don't think," he confesses, "stabbing is usually a Tommy thing, innit?"  
Sapnap gently readjusts Tubbo's position again, and reminds him,

"That's why you need to know it. Tommy can't always defend you. Now, one more time."

Tubbo makes another attack, and this time has a bit more success in blocking Sapnap from hitting him, but he ends up in a pile on the ground regardless. He looks up to Sapnap's hand, offered to him.

"...I think that's enough for tonight," he says quietly, pulling the brunet to his feet. "I don't want to give you too many bruises or make you too sore to maneuver if we need to escape. And swordfighting really does a number on your energy if you're inexperienced." Tubbo nods, grateful for the reprieve. They settle down to build the fire and prepare some of the food they still have, alongside rabbits and small grouse they had managed to hunt down.

  
A while longer passes before Skeppy and Tommy reappear, Tommy wringing his hand as though in pain and Skeppy laughing at him.

"-idiot, getting your hand hit by the bowstring like nine times," Skeppy mocks as they get closer, met with a punch to the shoulder.

"Put a sock in it," Tommy retorts. His accent surprisingly thins on the end, not thickening it like usual. The banter plays between them as they laugh and settle down at the fire, Tommy asking Tubbo about his progress; to which Tubbo dryly replies by pulling up his tunic to reveal a pattern of faint bruises in the specific spot Sapnap kept hitting when Tubbo didn't guard himself properly.  
Skeppy runs his gaze over it, and asks,

"Sapnap, were you training him or beating him up?" Sapnap shrugs,

"Training, but I wasn't gonna spare him if he fucked up his guard, you know? Better he learns from bruises than cuts."  
Skeppy can't deny that there's an aspect of truth to that, but regardless, he checks,

"You're alright though, Tubbo?" Tubbo nods, smiling as Fundy climbs onto his lap, settling down like a cat.

"He has a point, I was a lot less relaxed when he started smacking me with his stick," he laughs, giving the fox a scratch behind the ears.

  
That matter settled, Skeppy yawns and stretches.

"Should we do watches?" He asks, and Sapnap nods, tersely stating,

"This area is probably a hotbed for highwaymen. We'd be shanked in our sleep if we don't."  
Tubbo volunteers,

"I'll take first!" Tommy shakes his head,

"Let em take it, they're better at fighting." He gestures around them, "Unless we like, do two at a time?"

Skeppy and Sapnap glance around them compulsively. It's a wide, open area, and they meet eyes for a minute, nodding.

"Yeah, double watches sounds good. Tommy, you go with Sapnap, I'll take Tubbo and first watch," Skeppy instructs, and this garners a series of nodding from his companions. Tommy and Sapnap lay down, closing their eyes to go to sleep.

  
Around thirty minutes pass, and Skeppy asks,

"So, the fox. How'd you get him trained like that?"  
He's filling the silence with quiet conversation, and satisfying his own curiosity. Tubbo glances down at Fundy.

"Trained? We di'n do anything really. When we first woke up in town, we found him and he just started following us around. He felt like a friend, so I brought him with us."  
This provokes a yap from the creature, golden-orange fur bright against the grass. Tubbo laughs softly, and they lapse into silence again, watching for any signs of other people. Sometimes they'd see distant silhouettes, but never did they get closer.

Once, Skeppy saw the lilac eyes of an Enderman, and reflexively glanced down at the soundly sleeping Sapnap.  
He really doesn't look like an Enderman, or even like he belongs to that dimension.

Eventually, it comes time to switch watch, and Skeppy nods off, feeling a warm bundle of fur nestle against his side as Fundy joins them in sleep.

* * *

_  
Unrestful. He can't seem to find a good way to sleep, dreams and fragments drifting through his mind, filling his mind with uneasy pieces of things he can't place as real or not, until he's finally sitting in an empty square._

_The fountain is broken, stuttering out a stream of muddy water. Skeppy looks around him, at the cobbled ground of the square, and the dainty, mysterious houses around him.  
_ _It's dead silent, and the sky is slightly overcast._

_He turns around again, now to see a man sitting on the fountain edge reading a book._

_He looks up from his book briefly. Skeppy has never seen him before- to his knowledge. He has wispy brown hair, a warm reddish undertone in the thinner areas, and wide brown eyes that seem almost too big for his face at first._

_"Who are you?" Skeppy tries to ask, but no words come out, and the man stands, his coat swaying around him as he begins to carefully, deliberately, walk towards an alley, boxes of foxglove and other wildflowers flanking the entry to it.  
_ _He points down it, towards a blue door, and looks back at Skeppy, solemn, and mouths something before Skeppy feels the ground jerk under his feet and he's thrown into free fall, opening his eyes to...  
  
_ _Nothing. He can't see anything._

_But he can hear Bad's soft voice singing._

_"You are, my sunshine..." His voice goes up, offkey and too high for that note. Skeppy fumbles until he finds what he thinks is him, a moving, warm body, and says gently to him,_

_"Darryl, I love, you. I love you, I'm sorry I missed it before. Please, you can make it. You can manage this."_

_  
_ _Bad can't hear, he knows this. But he wants to say it anyway.  
_ _The brunet's voice falters though, and Skeppy can feel a hand pass through him._

_"...Geppy?"_

_At this exact moment, Skeppy understood what it felt like for your heart to break._

* * *

The feeling of despair choking his chest wakes him up, only for him to find the actual reason- he has a fox on his chest. Fundy has his paws tucked under his chest, like a little loaf of bread but furry, and is steadily squishing the air out of his very living bed.  
  
Skeppy lifts him off, the vulpine giving a slight whine in protest as he's set next to Tubbo.

"You're," Skeppy ruffles his fur, "giving me weird dreams, little friend. Try not to kill me in my sleep next time."  
Yet, something about the fox's stare causes him to pause. It feels like Fundy knows something but...  
  
"...you're just a fox. Get your shit together, Skeppy," he mutters. Fundy yips indignantly as Skeppy stops stroking him and stands up. He realizes as he does so what seems so uncomfortable about the campsite- Tommy is asleep next to Tubbo, but Sapnap isn't in sight- no, he is.

Skeppy makes his way over to him. Sapnap is kneeling down, sketching out a shape in the dirt.

"Hey," Skeppy says quietly, so as not to startle him, "What you doing?" Sapnap jumps regardless, and looks up with wide purple eyes.

"Don't sneak up on me," he mutters, looking back down. "I'm just...like, sketching out something from my dream."  
Skeppy sits down next to him, and asks,

"You had weird dreams too?" Sapnap nods.

"Someone, calling my name," he murmurs, "An empty nursery room. Someone's hands on my back. I'm starting to be pretty convinced I met my mate without knowing it. The voice sounds so familiar, so..."  
He closes his eyes, the glow hidden.  
Skeppy muses,

"Who knows your name? It would be easier to narrow it down if you don't give out your name."  
Sapnap shakes his head, and sighs.

"I think I told them it when I was feverish," he mumbles, "But when I woke up, they were gone."

Gone. He says the word in an agonizingly soft voice, clearly pained by the thought.  
  
"I barely remember a voice telling me something, calling me Nick, and it just...it feels so right. But regardless," he stands up, "They're almost certainly dead. I was injured in battle, so they were a medic, but…Combat trained medics don't last long under a tyrant."

A tyrant. Skeppy winces, knowing who he's talking about, and...  
 _George's soulmate is the tyrant.  
  
_ He sighs softly, and asks,

"Do you know why? Why the tyrant is one?"  
Sapnap drags his finger through the dirt and grumbles, admitting reluctantly,

"The parasite. It's been there all along, fucking with people and shit, but like...he went insane, power hungry and murderous. We were just pawns. I don't know how on earth it could've awakened that if it wasn't part of him to begin with, you know?" Skeppy nods, and contemplates this. He slowly volunteers,

"Is there a way to get rid of the parasite? Would it revert them their previous self?"  
Sapnap picks up a small rock and hurls it a bit down the path.

"...yeah, but he still has the deaths of hundreds to pay for. I don't care how reformed he is or what excuses he gives; I'm taking his life in penance for the others he sent to their deaths."

Skeppy swallows hard, and looks away, murmuring something incomprehensible to even himself.  
He knows what he means, and why he would do that or feel it was moral, but...

"I'm gonna go back and sleep. Wake me up when it's time."  
Sapnap waves blankly, and Skeppy lays back down, noticing how the boys have rolled towards each other, Tommy's arm protectively slung across Tubbo.  
He smiles softly, and closes his eyes, pulling himself towards George this time. Brief flickers of Bad tug him in his direction, but he steels himself and resists.

 _I need to see if George is alright_.

His mind begins to drift, and he once again feels the ball of fur curl up next to him as he fades out.

* * *

_He's there, it took him a bit but he's there. He's teetering precariously over the edge of a four-poster bed, and he immediately knows he's intruding._

_Dream cups George's cheek gently, and asks softly,_

_"Does it feel like...we were meant to meet? Do you get those feelings, or is it just me being sappy?"  
_ _They're laying next to each other, facing one another as they snuggle closer. George pauses._

_"I think it's both. Because you're being sappy, definitely, but also..."  
_ _Skeppy watches his friend's brown eyes soften as his gentle hand rests on Dream's arm, shifting to run his fingers through the blond's hair. He's not supposed to be here but he can't wake up-_

_"You're like a puzzle piece, even if I'm not sure I feel romantic things for you yet. You feel right. You saying my name feels right."_

_"George?" George flicks the other's nose affectionately._

_"Now you're just pulling on my dick, C̸̻̬̬͘_ _ꖎ_ _̷͍̄̌̚_ _ᔑ_ _̴̡̏|̷̣̰͔̓̎̚|̸͎̖͓̇" he jokes, and as he emphasizes the other's name in his reply, the static overwhelms Skeppy, sending him back to..._

_  
_ _The square. The door. He reaches for the handle, going to open the door, and as he presses his palm to the metal, he can see an eye peeking through the keyhole and-_

* * *

He once again jolts awake, throwing Fundy off his chest with a dissatisfied yowl, in a cold sweat, the image of the dark eye peering through the keyhole branded in his mind.

_What the hell was that?_


	14. Chapter 14

George could feel the difference in his dreams now. When they were around Bad, he could feel Bad's panic, and rarely he would see his terrified face by candlelight.

The other things he had seen in the cell horrified him on a basic level, one he couldn't put into words; bodies stacked away in the side of the room, Bad hugging his knees to his chest and rocking slightly, talking to himself, singing to himself, his voice hoarse and whispery.

Surely he needed to conserve whatever resources he had, didn't he? Talking would dry out his mouth, right?  
But when the light went out, George understood why Bad kept talking.

And now, his dreams of Skeppy are back on the road, back in camps, dreams of sparring and shooting and careful tutoring.

He taps a pen against his desk and stares at the wall in thought. Dream places his hand on his shoulder,

"George? Hello?" George jumps, and turns to face him, "I called your name like twice and you just didn't respond. Is everything okay? Did I make you mad?"  
George shakes his head, and stands, turning to hug Dream gently to reassure him.

"No, you didn't," he reassures him, "I was just thinking about Skeppy and Bad again. I wish there was something I could do to help them, but from here...I may as well be a pretty little bird in a comfortable birdcage. Useless, but appreciated."  
Dream huffs softly, and pulls back, cupping the brunet's cheeks in his hands.

"George, you're not useless," he states, "You're still getting over the venom's toll on your body. I have a plan to help your friend in the dungeon, but it's rather convoluted, so presently we need you to recover fully and for me to get prepared to go to the Overworld again."  
George's eyes widen slightly, and he raises a brow,

"The Overworld again? You're not?..." Dream combs his fingers through George's hair gently, and hums.

"...well, I have my own powers aside from my power as a leader. So..."  
George catches the blond's hand in his, holding it gently. He meets his eyes, his lovely eyes that to George, are such a bright shade of yellow.

"Don't you fucking dare put yourself in danger, even for me or my friends," he murmurs, "I appreciate it, don't get me wrong. But you shouldn't feel like you need to put yourself in danger even though the situations are not...good."

Dream closes his eyes, and sighs.

"I know. I know. You want me to stay safe, but George- I know how I can fix this. Your friend Bad? He sounds like a very sweet but unrealized mage. Your friend Skeppy also has hints of abilities that could be helpful. So it's in our best interests all around to keep them alive and mentally intact."

George nods. In a way, it's relieving to know that Dream has an ulterior motive, that he isn't doing this all on George's account. But then the words that he said sink in fully, and he looks at him incredulously.

"Did- did you just say you think Bad is a mage?" His tone is almost mocking, the amount of disbelief in it is so concentrated. Dream nods, and tugs on his hand.

"Come with me to the library," he orders, and George follows, listening, "You've described Bad as having a way with people and animals alike, able to placate situations that seemed otherwise daunting. He has a healer's touch, and most people he healed were almost tiptop in a short while. He heals fast, and has a way of getting around without being seen. These are all traits that can easily point to a mage who hasn't been trained or told he's a mage. But I have another reason to think he's a mage."

They arrive in the library, and George marvels at it, turning around and around as he stares up the vast shelves, awestruck.  
He's never, EVER, seen so many books in one place. Dream laughs softly at his marveling, and tells him softly,

"The king I told you about unfortunately burned a portion of our library. We've been working to recover every book lost, however. Now, look."

He makes his way to a table with books already strewn over its surface, stacked high and bookmarked with Dream's signature bright yellow bookmarks.  
George watches as he sifts through his piles, eventually drawing out an older book, bound in leather with parchment. He reaches over instinctively, running his fingers over the leather.

"I've seen very few books with this style of binding," he notes, "let alone with parchment."

"This book is old, very. So it makes sense it wouldn't be much like anything you've interacted with," Dream informs him, flipping through it.

The pages make odd noises as they turn, less like rustling and more like crackling. The lettering on the pages is done in a delicate, looping handwriting. George strains, but he can't understand the letters scrawling across the faintly yellowed pages. Finally, Dream stops at a page depicting an illustration of many cloaked figures standing around what George recognizes as an End portal frame, but it's far bigger than any he's seen in history books.

"Long ago," Dream begins, "hundreds of years before the End even became accessible, there were some mages who decided to take on tasks, larger, and larger, until their impact verged on godlike. There were, at the peak of their activity, thousands of mages united in this cause. These mages are the ones who unleashed the power of Names on the world, and they are the same ones who placed the spells for soulmates. Now, soulmate magic? It's dimmed. It used to be so strong that you would begin to feel it around your eighteenth birthday, and go walking off to find them. At that time, it was so that you would see them and know, see them and fall instantly for them. There were other things that it did, but we have whole books dedicated to ancient spells. What's important though, is the mages in question."  
  
He taps the page, or more specifically another illustration, of a figure in dark robes with horns. George squints, asking,

"Those patterns are red, right?" Dream nods.

"This is one of the first mages to enter the End. He slew the first dragon, and from its soul cast a spell opening the portal back. Inexplicably, however, he decided to turn his back on magehood, and he took a wife and settled down, having quite a few children; seven, in fact. However, none of the children had his talent for magic, nor his eyes." He taps another diagram, a detailed illustration of an eye. George stares at it for a few seconds.

"You told me that Bad had very interesting eyes- I think you said they were probably green and teal, from what you could make out. Did they look like this?" George nods, speechless. The eye on the page is a near duplicate of Bad's eyes.

"What does that mean?" He asks urgently, and Dream flips the page.

"It was realized soon that the innate ability to be a mage is passed down, skipping generations often. His wife was an ordinary florist, with no desire to learn magic, but a great love for his tricks and spells. His name is long since lost- he took great care to blot his true name and his chosen from history and the only name he's known by in these books is Seventh. The Seventh mage, the Seventh deserter, the Seventh son. But back onto how this relates to your friend- I'm almost positive he's one of Seventh's descendants. If I am correct, not only does this mean he has a large, untapped potential for magic, but also that he is in great danger."  
George, still shocked and overwhelmed by all of this information, manages to get out,

"But- how can he be in worse danger than he is?? He's in a cell somewhere in the Nether, with dead bodies, slowly losing his mind!" Dream pauses, and decides,

"Let's take a small break. This is a lot to take in." But George's gaze drifts to the next page, to a figure wearing a mask that matches Dreams, and another diagram of an eye. It matches Dream's and though the knowledge that Dream is a mage is unsurprising, he's still shaken that this isn't just _history_ to Dream- it's his _family legacy._

Dream catches him looking, and closes the book, taking his hand and leading him over to a small, cheerfully decorated corner of the library.

"...let's just sit down and read some children's books for a little," he suggests, "I can teach you about our alphabet, maybe."

George obediently settles down next to him, and they begin to pour over a simple story about a boy and a rabbit with wings. It's almost silly, but George finds this does calm him down, in the weirdest way. Mouthing the words after Dream, picking out the letters as Dream teaches him...it's soothing, and as he glances up at his companion, it occurs to him that this- this is Clay, not 'Dream'. The man gently leaning against him as they pour over a children's book in a library filled with centuries of knowledge, using his finger to point to words and gently explain the letters, his calm voice reading out the story; this, _this_ is him. And somewhere in him, George's chest feels warm and he feels...safe. Like this, he can digest all of what he had just learned without breaking down. They come to the end of the story, and George hugs Dream, Clay, and murmurs,

"Thank you. That, it was a lot. But you made it easier for me, even though it's still...a little too much to handle."  
  
The blond nuzzles against his neck, and softly tells him,

"Don't thank me for it. It's all I could do after dumping incredibly ancient history on you and telling you your friend is the descendant of a long-dead mage."  
George laughs softly, wryly, and he mumbles something.  
Dream pauses.

"...hmm?"  
George repeats himself quietly, so quietly that he's still barely a whisper.

"...I'm starting to think you really are my soulmate, Clay."

And feeling his hug tighten around George as he giggles, the very sound of his happiness when he replies...it feels perfect.

"Hearing that makes me so happy I could just, I could cry and that's so weird, but it's okay. Thank you Georgie."  
He has a prince holding him, clinging to him even, in the children's section of a palace library, who has for multiple days been practically professing his fate-proclaimed love for him. He would laugh at the absurdity of his whole situation, but it feels wrong to laugh right now.

And the prince's name is _Clay_.

It's such a dorky name in a way, but George feels it suits the prince. After a few minutes more of leaning close together, reading children's books, George tells him gently,

"I think I'm ready to go back to the history lesson, Clay."  
Dream tilts his head, and nods, closing the book and standing to slide it back into place. George stands as well, and Dream leads him back to the table, reopening the aged book to the page.

"As you can probably see," he says quietly, "I'm also a descendant of one of these mages. Most of our rulers have been. Now, about your friend...should he be found out as not only a mage, but a descendant of Seventh, he could be used as a sacrifice."

George starts, eyes widening as he borders on a shout,

"SACRIFICE?" Dream hushes him nervously, and upon one of the people reading on the other side of the library glancing up, he pulls George close, pretending to kiss him, instead whispering softly,

"Go with it." George nods, and Dream, still in guise as Clay, not wearing his royal garb, cups his cheeks and makes a speech about how it's a worthy sacrifice, that being with him was all he needed. George's cheeks flush even though it's a diversion from his outburst, and when he feels safe again, Dream drops his hands, and turns back to the book.

"I know it's shocking," he says quietly, "But you need to keep your voice down. We shouldn't throw this information around. Come on."

He scoops up the book, and three others, taking George's hand and leading him to a corner of the library with a mosaic George recognizes as one of the secret panels leading into the passages. Dream opens it, and George follows in, taking the lantern for the prince since his arms are full.  
They walk for ages it feels, in the dark, passing turn-offs and small peepholes, until Dream stops, opening the passage, and sliding out. George hangs up the lantern, and watches the door close behind him. They're in the infirmary where George had woken up, and Dream leads him quickly along to his room.

Dream can pass for, at best, a royal servant, or a scholar, and it's clear he doesn't want to be known. They make it to his room, and settle on the bed, the books left on the nightstand except the one they had been looking at.

"Yes, a sacrifice," Dream picks up where he had left off. "He has a vast reserve of latent magic energy, like most mages. But if he's inherited the same powers his ancestor had, he could be used to open seals put in place. While I doubt he's been found out as a descendant yet, since he didn't even know," George was about to ask how Dream knew that, but then remembered that it would be obvious; since nobody in their village had access to this kind of knowledge, let alone the ability to track their lineage so far back, "But from your descriptions, I'll hazard a guess that his powers kicked in to combat the torture and they put him in isolation."

George is baffled by this fact, and he asks,

"Why would they do that? What would it accomplish?"

Dream switches his book out for another, this one bound with dark red fabric; or well, George is pretty sure it's red. It could be orange, or brown though.

He watches as Dream flips through the pages, stopping at a chapter that he begins to read out.

" 'After the ruler of the Nether at this point in time, Svengal the third, took a young mage captive and attempted to ransom her back for a large sum of gold, her father and several other mages swept the fortress, killing any soldier who obstructed their path until she was recovered. Svengal was one of those killed in this assault, and his brothers, upon picking which of them would take the throne after their older brother was declared dead, decreed that any mages captured in the future would be punished for the magical massacre that had taken place that day. From our sources, isolation, dehydration, starvation, and general sensory and sleep deprivation seem to be favored methods of subduing them, as this saps at their magical reserves, which in turn breaks them down. If they prove especially troublesome, they seem to use a metallic Nether alloy forged into manacles to divert their magic and prevent movement. Allegedly, their goal is to wholly purge mages from the Overworld and Nether alike.' " He looks at him, an eyebrow raised. George feels sick to his stomach, thinking about how he's safely being courted by a prince while Bad could be in that cell, dehydrated and starving, and god only knows how Skeppy is doing. Dream sees the expression on his face, and murmurs,

"Hey, hey. Speak to me, George." George shakes his head, but whispers,

"And that's the least of Bad's problems, Clay?" Dream laces his fingers with George's, and tells him softly,

"...well, yes. And no. I know! Would you like to send Bad a letter? Or a package? We could send him some food and water and a letter...we can't send him proper weapons, he wouldn't be able to fight his way out and it's not worth the temptation."  
George perks up at that idea, and throws his arms around Dream. Why didn't he think of sending packages or even a letter to Bad?...Maybe it didn't occur over the panic of learning his friend was in the Nether.

"That's a wonderful idea," he praises Dream, and Dream smiles softly.

"It's nothing, really," he replies, "I know you likely didn't realize packages could be sent, since it _is_ called a 'letter' depository."

George giggles, and then asks, the thought popping into his head, unprovoked, unprompted,

"Clay, can you swim?" Dream looks nervous now.

"...No, I cannot," he replies, "Not due to any aversion to the water, more so due to not having been around water long enough in my youth to learn. Why?"

George shrugs, and replies,

"Well, Endermen can't touch water and I was wondering if you're able to." This earns him a little bonk on the head,

"I'm at least seventy percent water, George! I'm not the same as an Enderman. And plus if we had water I'd have learned, but we have wells and similar things, and that's it. Why didn't you just ask 'Hey Clay, can you touch water without screaming and teleporting away?' instead?"  
George smiles softly.

"Dunno. You just talk a lot and I like it. Plus I get more information if I ask a semi related question, get an answer, and then lead into my actual question," he replies factually, acting a whole lot smarter than he is. Dream can't help smiling though. _This fucking soulmate bond._

"Y'know what, you're infuriating even if you're cute," Dream decides, "so I'm gonna do that thing..."  
He punches George's arm, harder than he should've, but George just winces, laughing,

"Gentler, you gorilla."  
He points to the remaining two books,

"What are those ones about?" Dream goes quiet, fiddling with the pages of the Nether history book he still holds. George reaches for the books, and Dream hastily blurts,

"Special spells, George. I don't know why I grabbed them, I was only doing research."

George persists,

"What kind of spell?" Dream looks off to the side, more nervous now than George has ever seen him.

"...eyes," the brunet can make out from his mumbles. He taps Dream's shoulder,

"Couldn't hear you."

"I'm trying to fix your eyes!" He rushes out, "I just- it's not fair that you're not able to see the things I do. I want to find a way to fix it, even if I have to give something up to do so." George softens, watching the other's eyes tear up as he tries to explain his motive, nervous and shy.

"...Clay, it's okay," he says softly, cupping the blond's cheeks, leaning in a bit, "I don't need color to see your face. I don't need color to know you're beautiful."

He doesn't know where the compulsion to say these things is coming from, but he wipes away Dream's, Clay's, tears clumsily.

"You're too sweet," he murmurs, "I might not know what purple is, but I know what your face looks like when you're happy. Might not ever see anything other than yellows and blues, but I can see _you._ " He giggles at his rhyme, and hesitates, thinking back to the library.

"Clay?" The blond nods, listening, "Can I kiss you for real?"  
It's only been a week, maybe two. He spent so much time in delirium, just telling this young man about his whole life, about himself, about his friends. He has only a few memories from it all, but the ones he has are so soft, so full of joy. Clay's face, close to his as the other had comforted him, talking him out of his delirious panic.

But he's realizing things about the fluttering in his chest, the soft smile that possesses his lips like some sort of demon every time he looks at Dream. No, not Dream. He's looking at the actual man, Clay.

_Clay is right about us._

He nods, and George leans forward, pressing his lips awkwardly to the other's mouth, uncertain of how to do this. Clay presses in too, pulling him in by his waist, and George comes closer willingly.  
He can taste the sweets they'd had earlier, smell the other's breath- and his own isn't coming out, he's too tense to breathe.  
  
Clay rubs his back softly. A sign to relax and George forces himself to, but pulls away, breathless. His face is warm, and he's willing to bet he's blushing hard.

"I feel so stupid. That was so awkward and dumb," he admits, grinning awkwardly.  
He pulls Clay in with a teasing,

"Let's do it again."

* * *

George sighs softly, still nestled against Clay. Despite their awkwardness, they'd spent a while kissing, learning how to make it work, how to do it right...and once or twice, biting each other on the nose in retaliation to being nipped.

That led into a small tickle war, and that led to now, with the two of them cuddled up to each in a comfortable pile as they recovered from the onslaught.  
George got the worst of it, being horribly ticklish; but as soon as he figured out where Clay was sensitive, he had to stop before the blond hyperventilated and passed out.

Though reluctant to return to serious topics, George asks,

"Clay? Can I get a package together for Bad, and send Skeppy another letter? I want to keep him updated, even if he can't send letters back. He deserves to know I'm okay."  
Clay nods- George realizes that he's no longer thinking of him as _Dream_ , rather as 'Clay', a young man who just seems to want the best for his subjects and for George- and shifts his position a little, tentatively placing a peck on George's cheek.

"Of course you can," he replies, "I'll help with items we can send Bad. The poor soul must be terrified...I wish that it was easier to get to the Nether, but unfortunately it's no simple feat, and finding the right fortress without a map will prove even more challenging." He takes George's hand in his, and slides off the bed, squeezing reassuringly. George takes a deep breath.

This is what he can do, to help his friends and salve his conscience.

* * *

He releases the package and letters into the water, watching as they vanish. The water ripples, gradually coming to be still once more; he glances up to Clay with a grin, and the blond meets his eyes, smirking.  
  
George feels like they've made good choices. Like this will help in the ways he hopes.  
But what he has to do now is return to the palace, accompanied by Clay, his protective royal escort, who has talked him into hugging his arm so he's closer to him on the way.

And really, all he can do is lay down and close his eyes, exhaustion overtaking him, and accept that this is how it will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHONKY CHAPTER AAAAAAAAAAA  
> But if I split it it would be weird in the next one because instant pov swap>:( so you guys might get one (1) chapter next week because I feel scared that I'll fall behind if I give too much. It's hit or miss, depends on how much steam I have this week.


	15. Chapter 15

A faint clatter breaks the silence of the cell, a faintly purple spark flaring in the darkness for an instant. For that instant, Bad can see an elegant box and a letter.  
He opens the box, almost hungrily, and searches the contents.

A handful of dark teal marbles or something. A tightly packaged box of food, a bottle of water that seems slightly purple. A tiny dagger more suited to lockpicking than to stabbing.  
A strange, larger, marble that looks like an eye, like _his_ eyes in a weird way. He leaves it in the box, unnerved, and begins to read the letter, the faintly glowing ink providing just enough light to pick out letters.

"Darryl!" It begins, "I don't know how soon this will reach you, but I hope to all deities you're still alive and able to read by the time it does. I know you've been in a bad situation while I've been being nursed to health and that you probably don't want to hear about my cute rescuer, so I'll make this quick.  
Those little marbles are Ender pearls, I'm sure you've seen them before."

Bad stares at them, and recollection dawns. There's maybe sixteen of them altogether.

"Put them in the little pouch in the bottom of the box. If you throw one, it will teleport you to where it breaks, right? Be careful, for fuck's sake, but if opportunity knocks, use them. Dream insisted we give you an Eye of Ender, but he told me to say that it's for later and to hold onto it. Darryl, we'll find you. I'll get Dream to send every soldier he has to you if I need to.  
Just hold on, please.  
  
George."

  
Bad draws in a gasp. He can feel the burn of his rising tears, and hastily tries to suffocate them in his knees.  
Someone knew.  
Someone was able to contact him. Someone human, someone real.  
  
He wasn't abandoned to this- despite knowing Skeppy would take a sword through his chest to save Bad, some part of Bad feared that his friend's easygoing nature around his new acquaintances meant that he was forgetting.

It was paranoia, induced by the constant loneliness, heightened by his lessened food and water intake.  
He lives in fear and yet anticipation of being taken out of the cell. Surely they couldn't keep him in here forever, right?

But he remembers the bodies, and his throat tightens.  
  
...he isn't safe. He won't be safe until he's dead. He's _never_ going to be able to walk down a street without being afraid that he'll be jumped and dragged away to a dungeon.

Bad closes his eyes, hugging the letter close, and then begins to ritualistically shred it into smaller and smaller pieces, until he can wedge them under a loose brick in the wall, filling the crevice with paper.  
How long has it been? Two days? Three? Somehow, he doubts it's even been that long, but it feels like so much longer. The stench of the cell, the scent of excrement and the corpses, is so strong that he's lost sensitivity to it, or it would make his head spin constantly.

There's been nothing from the piglin. It did what it could and then went dark, for its safety. Bad can't blame it. There's only so much that a single golden watch can buy after all.  
He leans against the wall, having tucked the box away with his other supplies.

The brick is cool against his face, and he's a still little surprised that it is- he thought it was all hot.  
 _They have to have some colder areas I suppose...and going beneath the lava is a smarter move, since those layers of ash and stuff would insulate against the heat..._

His own rationality confuses him, but he embraces it. After all, it's not like having some rational thought in his head would hurt him.  
He tucks the pearls into the bag, hiding it and the dagger under one of the bodies with the box.

The secrets concealed, he lays on his back, on the circle of clear, safe ground he's made for himself, staring at the ceiling. He's so out of it sometimes that he can see eyes of something not there, something that he's imagining.

He used to imagine it when he was younger too. Alone in his room, his father out working before he had died.  
He closes his eyes, allowing his mind to wander away from his current situation to memories of his past.

* * *

 _I huddle on the bed, my blankets pulled to my chest. In the darkness around me I hear hissing, and I whimper, plugging my ears. It's not real, like papa told me, it's just my imagination playing tricks on me.  
_ _I'm just scared._

 _I draw the blanket closer to me, pressing back against the pillows as I scour my room with my eyes for any sign of the Thing.  
_ _And sure enough, there it is. At the foot of my bed, I see two bright green eyes staring into me, burning holes through my skull with its gaze.  
_ _I can't look away. I never can, its too-bright eyes forcing me to stare it down._

 _I know I'm shaking. It's there every few nights, watching me. And every time it turns out the same.  
_ _Minutes pass with us locked in this staring contest, neither going to blink._

 _Papa said to go under the blanket. Things can't get me if I'm under the blanket. I slowly pull it up, beginning to tuck under the fabric, but I feel it already, it's too late for hiding.  
_ _The eyes are closer, and the next thing I'm aware of is panicking._

_I can't breathe, I can't-_

_My chest is tight and my heart is pounding, I feel it everywhere in my body, the eyes are gone but I'm crying, I'm calling for help, shaking-  
_ _I'm not here, I'm not, it doesn't feel like I'm in my body anymore- please, papa, come help!!_

* * *

His eyes open again, and his mouth curves into a smirk, meeting the eyes of his childhood nemesis, the cause of so many nightly panic attacks and nightmares.  
Bad blinks lazily, grinning at it.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore," he tells it, tells his own hallucination, "I'm not a little kid anymore and you're not gonna make me freak out over your stupid eyes. Go away."

And he's not sure if he's surprised or scared when the eyes actually close and fade away. Despite this victory over his fear, he feels hollow.  
Another piece of what made him who is has been stripped away by this place. He wonders how long he can go before he tears himself down to his core.

Once again, his eyes close, and he sighs.  
 _If I was not me, would he love me? If I lost everything that made me who I am, would Zak still hold my hand and tell me I'm his best friend?  
_ Some part of him wants to believe that they're meant to be, that he would always love him, even without his _self_...but what would he love? An empty shell of a person stripped down to a cynical, listless husk?

Would he _want_ Skeppy to love that?  
He beats his hand on the ground a few times, whining.  
  
No, he wouldn't want Skeppy to love that. He wants to see him again.

A familiar burning in his chest starts, the compulsion so strong now that he rubs his fingers against the rough bricks over and over, chafing them till they're almost raw just to distract himself from it.  
 _Find him! Find him! Find him!!_ The little voice inside him pipes, and Bad shakes his head.  
 _I can tell him I love him once I get out of here. We can be...together. We can love each other, right? Look, calm down...  
_ But the burning continues, and he tosses and thrashes, fighting it even as it pulls him to his feet and makes him scrabble against the wall near the door, trying to climb out.

His soulmate compulsion has always been strong, but now it's a curse of its own, a dull ache in his chest, permeating his body with each heartbeat.  
Finally, it fades, and he throws himself to the ground, huddling with his knees to his chest, reluctant to even move.  
  
Every hour seems to birth forth a new horror from his mind or the environment.  
If they even are hours. They could be days. Bad blinks owlishly into the darkness, wishing he at least had his glasses, and resists the urge to light his candle again. He's going to run low on matches if he isn't careful.

He's going to be trapped in darkness with no option of escape if he's not careful.

He's going to be in here, alone, with the Thing. In the dark.

He shakes his head violently.

"It's not real," he argues aloud with himself, "It's just a hallucination because I've always hated the darkness and because little kids like reasons, I made one for my fear! And it's just stayed with me. There's literally nothing, Bad, nothing!" He looks up to prove it. Nothing, as he said. Just his brain playing tricks on him.  
  
Yet he doubts himself again.

Perhaps it was always real and he just repressed it. Perhaps it's stronger now.

He presses his hands against his neck, feeling his pulse, feeling the pressure on his throat.  
He's alive. For now. He presses harder on the pulse, and then stops, hearing footsteps outside his cell. They clunk and drag past his cell, but don't stop. They just keep going.  
 _What if this place is full of hallucinogenic gas?_ The sudden, unwelcome thought makes Bad's throat tighten, and he swallows uneasily.

There's nothing there. Nothing here. It's just him, and the corpses. Just him and the bones.  
The fragments of the skull he had smashed in the fight with the skeleton are staring at him. He couldn't bash it in any more, but they keep turning back to face him. And he hates it.  
Of course, he couldn't fully remove the vengeful reanimation from the bones. The only way to do that is to grind them down or drain out the marrow.

Just him and the bones. Just him and the ghosts.  
The ghosts of all the people who had died before him in this forsaken pit.

* * *

The fog presses in on them, laced with bitter smoke that drifts upwind from the fires behind them.

A tension has fallen upon the quartet in the past two days; Skeppy woke from nightmares multiple times to find Sapnap already up, either angrily skinning an animal or fencing with the air. Since the first time, he hasn't asked about Sapnap's dreams, the two of them reaching a mutual, silent, agreement that they won't dig into the dreams relating to their soulmates.  
The boys, however, can clearly tell something is off with both of them, though they don't know what it is precisely. Skeppy has seen them huddled off together, small flickers of what he's sure is Tubbo's magic (learning the other day that the brunet was a mage was not that surprising. He's worried he'll set a fire by accident though) lighting up their faces. They're doing something when they run off together, but they deny it each time.

Skeppy's dreams are still haunted by the blue door and the empty square, but he hasn't seen the man from the first one again.  
  
Skeppy adjusts his bag and his sword. Sapnap's tense, terse silence feels odd after seeing him begin to open up with the caravan, and something tells Skeppy it had been spurred on by the separation. Almost like a trauma response, but not so severe.  
They reach the top of a hill, and Skeppy points through the lightening fog.

"Look Sap! I can see the city!" He cheers, and Sapnap nods.

"Great. We're almost there. I just fuckin hope Eret hasn't moved shop."

Tubbo glances at Tommy, and the two of them continue walking. Clearly they recognize the name.  
Skeppy takes a step, only for a paper to hit him smack in the face, causing him to yelp. It's accompanied by a faint purple glow that tips Skeppy off about who it's from.

Sapnap looks over curiously, and Skeppy opens the envelope, scanning the page and taking in his friend's writing- and someone else's, too.

"Skeppy! I'm sorry if this letter reaches you at a bad time. I sent Bad a parcel and a letter too, but alright look.  
You need to figure out how to link to the right fortress, because Dream has been telling me about how the Nether works and it's stupid as fuck. But once you do, he says he'll help! And here's his advice."  
"Skeppy," the handwriting is small, crammed together, "I'd like to apologize for the scare I gave you the night I took Notfound. But aside from that, you need to find a good map- one that has the Berlmang mountain range on it. That's the last place I recall word of a Nether-Overworld embassy being, and there's a chance you can find information there or maps of the Nether. If you can't do that, I'll send another letter with further advice. I'm not so sure how we can get your friend out of the dungeon, but I'll assist in whatever way I can.

P.S, do I have your blessing to continue courting your friend? He says that I need to obtain your 'bro stamp of approval'? You Overworlders are funny."

  
Skeppy pours over the writing, not paying attention to the others- two of which are peeking over his shoulder as he chuckles at Dream's footnote, knowing the joke had gone right over the Ender's head.  
He's not expecting the shove that comes when Sapnap finishes reading over his shoulder, or the accusatory,

"Your friend is courting DREAM?" Skeppy's blood goes cold, recalling what Sapnap had said about Dream.  
 _'I don't care if he's reverted, I'll take his head off in penance.'  
_ He blamed the prince for his parent's and possibly soulmate's death, he was angry with him and still not through his grief.

"I- yeah," Skeppy admits, "I'd assume it's the same, Dream...unless it's a common chosen name."  
Sapnap's fists curl inwards, and he takes a step forward,

"How long have you known?" He asks, in deceptively calm tone. Skeppy swallows. He had expected his friend to be angry, but-

"A, a while," he responds, "Since I got visions of them."  
Sapnap takes a deep breath.

"...so you were just going to keep it a secret? To protect your friend and his _soulmate_? You weren't going to tell me that your friend is courting my worst enemy? Were you going to take Dream's side in all of this?"  
  
Skeppy gestures in frustration,

"Look, when I first learned his name, I'd seen him cuddling George and telling him it would be okay while George was delirious with fever! I saw a man who had saved my friend's life, and was continuing to care for him. And then you hit me with the whole 'he-killed-hundreds' bullshit and I realized he probably is freed from the parasite-"  
  
Sapnap cuts him off, growing more angered,

"You are! You're taking his side! I can't believe you!"

Tommy tries to tug on his sleeve, distract him, but Sapnap ignores him, stalking closer to yank Skeppy forwards by his hood. Skeppy lets him, knowing he won't win this fight, as hard as he could try.

"He's the reason my family is dead," Sapnap spits, and Skeppy nods,

"You told me that-"

"He's the reason I nearly died! He's the reason my soulmate-" he sucks in a sharp breath, "-that my soulmate is probably dead too!"

Tubbo looks panicked, Skeppy notices distantly, but Tommy takes his hand and squeezes reassuringly. A look passes between the two friends.  
Sapnap shakes him a bit, forcing his attention back to the furious, yet tearful, expression of his friend.  
  
 _Are we friends?_

"Skeppy," he desperately asks, echoing the other's thoughts, "Are we even friends? Have you been on his side this whole time while my goal was to take him out? When were you going to tell me?" He switches tone again, back to anger, "Or were you going to wait until it was convenient to stab me in the back?"

"I wasn't going to betray you," Skeppy tries to explain, "I just thought it wasn't necessary to-"

" **NECESSARY**!! Oh look at you and your big words! You didn't think it was necessary to WHAT, Skeppy? You didn't think it was necessary to fill me in? Necessary to tell me your friend would be on Dream's side?" He continues his shaking, and Skeppy just lets himself be shaken, lets him take out his anger.

"I knew you'd be mad-"

"MAD? That's a fuckin understatement of the highest order, buddy," Sapnap growls, once again cutting him off. "You try finding out that the person you thought was your friend was secretly planning to protect your worst enemy! Then come back and tell me you were only MAD!"  
  
Sapnap's tears are no indication of weakness, Skeppy realizes. Sapnap is crying, in fact, as he yards on Skeppy's hood, at points threatening to suffocate him. After a bit more of the same back and forth of Skeppy trying to explain, just a bit, and Sapnap cutting him off, he lets go, allowing Skeppy to stumble back, rubbing his neck slightly. Sapnap isn't looking at him.  
He's looking away, looking to the ground with a sullen expression that's tinged with grief.

Skeppy tries one more time.

"S- Nick, I-"

"Don't," Sapnap snaps, his voice choked, "Don't you dare use my name. I don't want to see you. Tommy, Tubbo. Come on. Let's go." Tubbo takes a deep breath, and steps over to stand behind Skeppy, while Tommy takes Sapnap's side. The raven-haired man's once-dark eyes flare lilac, and he snaps,

"Two traitors in one group? Fuck, I should've just gone on my own. Have it your way, then."

He whirls, and begins to stomp away down the road. Skeppy watches him, expecting him to stop- to turn around, to hesitate, anything.  
But he goes, and Tommy follows, glancing back at Tubbo with resignation.


	16. Chapter 16

Tubbo gently takes Skeppy's hand, Fundy barking at them from their feet.

"Skeppy," the boy says quietly, "It's gonna be okay. Tommy and I have a plan, see?..."

Skeppy swallows heavily, and tries to cover up how badly this stings- the whole debacle just feels like...

"This is going to leave some wounds," he murmurs, "For both me and him." He tugs on Tubbo.

"Eh?" Tubbo questions, following him off the path, towards the objectively shorter but also more dangerous route to the city.

"We might as well give him time," Skeppy sighs softly, "It's not going to help our case to go chasing after him while he's still all...snappy."  
Tubbo nods, and tightens his fist, swallowing,

"Well, he's got Tommy with him- I hope they'll be safe." Skeppy quietly asks,

"Do you know who we need to meet and where they are?" Tubbo nods,

"Eret. He's a good man, even if he's got his fingers in a lot of underworld matters. I remember meetin' 'im when Phil was showing Tommy and me around the city."

Skeppy sighs in relief. At least they aren't completely out of the loop while Sapnap sorts out his anger- and hopefully comes to his senses.  
So he leads the way down the hill, to copses of trees, Tubbo by his side.

It's going to be a miserable night, he realizes, once everything starts to set in.  
The four (five, with the fox) has dwindled to two (three).

Skeppy closes his eyes and resigns himself to the rest of the journey.

* * *

"I don't understand why he'd keep that secret from me like that!" Sapnap fumes, snapping a branch with his foot aggressively as they build their campfire. Tommy contributes,

"Maybe he thought you'd stop helping 'im? I'm sure there wasn't any harm meant by it, ya know?"

Sapnap hurls the branch into the pile, his eyes now abandoning their calm indigo hued mask in favor of a fervent flickering lilac.

"I just-" he shakes his head, and admits, misery in his tone, "I thought I could trust him. But he's known for a while surely, and he didn't see fit to let me know. What else is he hiding? And is he really going to side with someone who caused so much death?"  
His voice cracks, frustration lacing his tone before he turns in search of a new branch to take out his anger on. Tommy snaps a few into kindling, lining it up neatly. He can feel a heat in his pocket, and though he's tempted to check it, he ignores it, continuing to rationalize the situation.

"See, his soulmate is all up and on the line here," he explains, "so surely he's a touch more ansty about things that could reset his progress with rescuing him? An' I mean, he hasn't known you all that long, maybe he thought just not saying anything about his friend's soulmate being your worst enemy, vengeance bound as ya can be and allat."

Sapnap looks down at the branch in his hands, running his palms over the bark, feeling the ridges through his gloves. Despite his anger, as soon as he spent a little while away from Skeppy he felt guilty. He could see the reasoning...but...

"That doesn't change that he bullshitted me about it not being Dream. He saw him that first night, he said so. He could've told me that the same guy who took his friend was also the one nursing him back to health; but he chose to lie to me."  
Tommy strikes his flint and steel, sending sparks crashing over the kindling. He watches as the blaze catches, comforted by the flickering light. Fire is familiar to him, and after so long away from the orange hued light he was used to in the Nether, it was nice to see fires again.

"...I'm sure he had his reasons, Nick," he murmurs, and Sapnap flinches.

"God, don't _call_ me that," he snaps, "you're the reason Skeppy knows my name in the first place! He heard you guys using it while trying to wake me up." 

Tommy lifts his head defiantly,

"I'll use it if I want, you killjoy! Get your head up Nicky, Nickipoo. We're gonna get to that city and find Eret and then we'll wreak some fucking havoc! Arson!"

Though Sapnap flinches with each iteration of his name, he brightens in agreement with the ending bit.

"God I can't wait to absolutely DESTROY that fortress," he groans, stretching, "we can drag Techno to the portal and shit, tie him down until the parasite just- I don't fucking know, sucks a fat one."

"A fat fucking COCK," Tommy contributes, and Sapnap laughs, his anger diminishing somewhat with their banter.

Tommy knows this is why he went with Sapnap. He knows how to get under his skin and either fuck shit up or fix it.  
In this case, he's supposed to fix it. Level out Sapnap's tendency to be hot-headed, which he can't help but find ironic seeing as Tubbo has had to reprimand him for his recklessness many times before they were even exiled.

The exile. He sombers at the memory, the empty look in his friend's eyes as he sentenced them to banishment, exiled from his lands by the pain of death.

He had been holding Wilbur's hand when the statement was made, too scared to admit being scared, but unwilling to let go. Tubbo was standing behind them, peeking out as though he was afraid to see what had become of Techno under the influence of the _thing_.  
Philza was the one who stood in front of the other three, coolly addressing Techno as though he didn't see him as a son as much as he saw the others as such.

 _"We'll be leaving then,"_ he had said, and turned, wings snapping out briefly to send a gust of icy wind through the room. _"When you remember who you are under that mask you're wearing, Techno, I'll come back."_

And without further pause or hesitation, he had grabbed Tubbo's hand, pulling the rest of them to the portal.

Tommy's spacing out doesn't go unnoticed by Sapnap, who already started on dinner. He frowns, knowing this is unlike him.

"Tommy? You good?" The blond snaps out of it, blinking a few times as he shakes his head.

"Yeah," he dismisses, "I'm great. Just thinking about the whole exiling bullshit."  
Sapnap begins to draw in the dirt with a stick as he asks,

"So...I didn't ask, but how did you get separated from Wilbur and Philza?"  
Tommy winces. This is a sore subject for him, but he shrugs like it isn't.

"Well, you know how portals work, don'cha? You know how easy it is to fuck up the destination with four people goin' through?"

As he speaks, he recalls it, his memories paving way for the words.

_He had taken Tubbo's hand at the last second, pulling the other closer to him to help him not be as freaked out. But in doing so-_

"I accidentally tripped Will and he fell through wih'out the rest of us and then when Phil tried to take us through some shit when weird and he got wrenched outta sight. So they could be anywhere."

_He had tugged Tubbo a bit too hard, the suddenness of it causing him to topple towards Tommy, in turned yanking on Wilbur's arm, causing the previously relaxed man to stumble forwards, his foot catching between the bricks and sending him into the portal.  
_ _There's a moment of horror as he realizes the implications of his actions, as Wilbur shifts to start getting up, realizing too late his situation. A dry popping sound is the indication that he's gone, left this dimension._

"But don't the portals go to the same place?" Tommy shakes his head in response to Sapnap's question. He recalls the day that changed, in fact.

"They used to. But when shit started going sideways and our military leaders got all possessed and shit, they decided to shut down the one-to-one portals. Now they rely entirely on thought and intent when traveling from the Nether to the Overworld- your destination is determined by your thoughts. I'm shit at it."

_Phil gently leads them into the portal, and tells them,_

_"Alright, I need to you to just focus on me. I'm your destination."  
_ _He had tried. He really tried. But when the pins and needles began to consume his body, the moment of panic sent him into thinking about the wrong things- flowers, Techno, Tubbo- and the next thing he knows he's on his ass against the cobble, Tubbo on top of him, the brunet's knee in an unfortunately painful location for Tommy._

_It was the worst landing ever. And the worst part wasn't even getting sacked- it was that Philza was nowhere in sight._

"So...you fucked everything up or some shit like that?" Sapnap asks, tactlessly, and Tommy groans.

"Wow, you really went there, huh _Sharpnap??"_ His horrible nickname clearly doesn't please Sapnap, who groans and complains,

"That doesn't even make any sense, like at least fuck up the existing syllables or something-" _Snapmap_. His complaints fall silent at the memory of how Skeppy had playfully teased him with the nickname. "...or don't. Just call me by my usual name and all."

Tommy takes another breath, and throws a twig into the flames, watching as the brilliant flames lap around it, hungrily charring it from brown to black.

"...but yeah. You're right. I fucked things up. Now we need to find Philza and Wilbur, and all we could think to do was visit this city since it was the other place we visited when they took us to the Overworld."  
Sapnap puts a few finishing touches on his drawing in the dirt, and murmurs,

"So you're looking for any sign of where they've been. I'm guessing Phil, Philza, is one of the few mages from the Nether who made a name for himself in the Overworld without getting killed in the Nether? The winged one?"

Tommy nods, a little surprised that Sapnap would recognize him just by name like that.

"Yeah. Which is why I think 'e probably already found Will an' is looking for Tubbo and me. At least, I'm hoping they found each other- but we only have so many places we can go with this. Only so much hope."

They fall silent, and the northern wind teases their fire, the flames dancing around the chilly fingers that pluck at it. The grass rustles softly; the night could be called placid, calm, if it weren't for the sky filled with smoke and the looming clouds on the horizon.  
Tommy can hear the distant sound of thunder, and he flinches at the thought of another rainstorm.

It's not like he dies in the water, but it isn't very pleasant. Sapnap's drawing completed, the Ender scuffs it out with his boot, unwilling to share whatever it was.  
Their silence is awkward, tepid- both having shared things that broke the ice further between them, but yet the ice is still not gone.  
  
Sapnap had met them on the road, Tommy suddenly remembers, and he asks,

"So...what made you decide to try to help us?" Sapnap looks up, snapped out of his stupor. He brushes hair out of his eyes, and retorts,

"Eh?"

"You just bumped into us on the road, and decided to help us or something. Almost like how you did to Skeppy but with less secrecy." Tommy laughs, suddenly recalling, "That's right! We learned your name from you _sleep talking!"_ Sapnap smacks the teen's shoulder in playful embarrassment,

"Shut up Tommy." More seriously, he leans back and scans the area for anybody lurking about, not that he thinks anyone is. "I chose to help you guys because I felt bad. You looked so lost and freaked out that I'd have to be heartless to ditch you, and you said you were going my way anyway. Or well, somewhat. I was initially going to stop at the village because I was tired as shit, and my goal originally was to seek audience with the prin-" he pauses, and reluctantly corrects himself, "...the king, appealing for an alliance to help take down Dream and the Nether as a package. But with Skeppy's predicament I altered my course to head to Gotopia, since it couldn't hurt to check in with Eret."  
Tommy snorts in amusement,

"Everyone knows Eret it seems. He sure has his fingers in everything, doesn't?"

Sapnap laughs, and informs him in an amused, theatrically hushed voice, gesturing with his hands dramatically,

"Yeah, but last time I met up with him he swept out to our meeting in a bloody ballgown! He looked ready to assassinate some poor nobleman via a poisoned drink."  
Tommy's eyes widen, and he laughs, amused by the image of the serious man dressed up like a noblewoman. It wasn't uncommon in the Nether for nobles to wear skirts; more comfortable to have a looser, more flowy garment and all. Hell, even Tubbo had tested wearing skirts at one point- he remarked that it was quite nice, but opted for pants more often since he wouldn't hurt himself as badly if he tripped and brushed his leg on a magma patch.  
Not that Tubbo was a noble, he mentally realigned his thoughts.

Neither of them were even close to nobility, and he knew it. The only one close to noble in their group, aside from Techno himself, had been Wilbur. Philza was a mage, and mages don't get far in the Nether unless they're a noble's pet, practically. Everyone knew the risks of practicing magecraft openly, the torture and painful death you could undergo for it.  
Nobody would forget how dangerous mages are, either, after how the mages had massacred a whole fortress of people, killing a king in the process.

Even as a person who was close to and accepted mages, Tommy can't quell his uneasy feeling whenever he saw Tubbo or Phil practicing magic, like he was afraid that next he would fall victim to their spells.

It was a deeply etched fear many Nether residents struggled to overcome.  
  
...there's a far worse one, though.

Tommy stares at Sapnap's lilac eyes, and finds himself wondering, yet again, how he hasn't been slaughtered where he stands yet.  
Every person from the Nether knows too well about how ruthless Enders are, especially, _especially_ , to Nether-human hybrids.

It's akin to the fear and hatred of mages the Nether had, but it seemed to run so much deeper.  
Like it's been saturating their culture for thousands of years, in a way so traumatic that none of them could forget it.

Tommy even saw Sapnap flinch back when he learned about Tubbo and Tommy's heritage.  
Saw his hand go to his blade. Expected death then and there.

But he didn't kill them.


	17. Chapter 17

Skeppy pauses, kneeling down and gesturing in front of them silently, urgently. Tubbo narrows his eyes, and his expression brightens as he locks onto the rabbits grazing in the grass a ways from them.  
Skeppy nods, and Tubbo carefully takes aim with his sling, as Skeppy nocks an arrow.

They aim for different rabbits, Skeppy's killed quickly by an arrow to the lung, and Tubbo's left dazed and stunned, possibly unconscious. They approach their kills, Tubbo slitting the throat of his with an apologetic wince. Skeppy knows he doesn't enjoy killing the animals, but he has to get used it, after all.

Skeppy doesn't want him to be pitted against a human and have the same hesitation that only knocked the rabbit unconscious. If it's a choice between becoming a killer and dying, he would always choose the former, as some people would.

"Nice shot," he praises him softly, and Tubbo smiles. They carry them back, and Skeppy gets to work, showing Tubbo how to skin them; Tubbo seems a bit ill and squeamish at the thought of it and excuses himself, though Fundy waits by eagerly, snapping up scraps.  
He considered keeping the hides to tan, but decides it wouldn't be very convenient to try doing so on the road. And he's uncertain of where they'll end up once they reach the city, so it's better to not have a bloody pack of pelts with him.

Besides...

He glances at Tubbo, sprawled in the grass, a small orange glowing orb in his hands. He stares at it with a soft look, and Skeppy can hear a faint whisper from it.  
He's sure Tubbo doesn't want to carry around a bunch of skins. He finishes up, and sets the meat over the fire to cook, content to just roast it and eat it like that. It wasn't particularly good, but it was food, and that's what counted.

"Don't you stick your little snout in the flames to get our food," he warns Fundy, "You'll get your share eventually."

His words are met with a whine as the fox stares at him with his large eyes, begging. Skeppy tears his gaze away and plunks down next to Tubbo.

"What ya got there?" His playful remark is met with Tubbo flinching and stuttering out a hasty explanation,

"Uh- just something I made, a marble...thing. Yeah!" It flickers brighter, like a dim spark, and the whisper grows louder.

"Tubbo? Is that Skeppy?" Tommy's voice filters through the orb. Skeppy stares at it in surprise, and puts two and two together, arriving at four perfectly.

"Yeah, it's me. Tubbo, is this what you two were huddled over yesterday? Some kind of communication device?" He asks, as he examines the orb in Tubbo's hand. It's nothing special, dark silver with the orange glow emanating from a starburst of amber running over the surface.

Tubbo replies, his tone somewhat embarrassed,

"Yeah, it is. It's- just a scrying orb. It has its own magic so he can use it, so- communication!"

Tommy says brightly,

"A right stupid idea honestly, but he made it work somehow. Credit where it's due, I can see you two and nothing is off except you bein' BRIGHT ORANGE." Tubbo mimes punching the orb, and explains a bit more as he sees Skeppy's perplexed expression,

"Phil- Philza, the other guy we're looking for- taught me how to do this, it's really simple magic. Yesterday I just- I knew in some way that something was going to go wrong, and I made these in case Tommy and I got separated. Once you two started goin' at each other's throats, we decided to split up so we could redirect you two in case he decided to forgive you. Plus we cover more area like this! More chances to find Phil and Will."

Skeppy winces in painful memory of the harsh way Sapnap had reacted to learning Skeppy was _possibly_ on Dream's side. He's forcing himself to belief it was just Sapnap lashing out through anger and grief without thinking it over, but some part of him fears it was a genuine hatred that he had evoked with his mistakes regarding George's savior.  
He spaces out, considering best and worst situations that could happen; and yet somehow he sees no remotely good situation that involved killing the End prince. After all, in a way...whatever good could come of condemning his friend to a life without the soulmate he's surely attached to by now?

Tubbo prods him, and smiles apologetically as he glances over.

"Tommy was asking you a question-"

"And you were ignoring me, you _wanker_ ," Tommy barks jokingly, and repeats himself, "Do you think that Sapnap's soulmate is alive?"

Skeppy freezes at the question, and begins to turn it over in his head.

Are they dead?...it's a tough question. He runs through the sensations and the bond he shares with Bad, before slowly shaking his head.

"I...don't think so. Sapnap would know for certain if his mate was dead, I feel. Especially since they met. If Bad died I'm sure I'd feel it in my soul, deeply. It would probably be the same for him, right?" His words come out quickly but with clear hesitation, like he's reluctant to give his input into this situation.

He just feels like...he shouldn't meddle with Sapnap's emotions right now, even if the meddling is analyzing them. It just feels invasive and wrong in a way that he can't quite place, like Sapnap has set up a boundary that he shouldn't cross. He's clearly done damage as it is, and as much as Skeppy likes to push people, he can tell when enough is enough. Or when enough is too much.

He understands that the younger boys want to fix things up, to head back so they can be together again. To see the small group they'd fallen into be peaceful and happy again.  
But he also knows, deep down, that things won't be the same. They haven't been the same since the fire, and while they may have left the burning wreckage behind them, it lingers in their hearts, lurking in their minds.

A group that had come to feel like home over a short while, people welcoming and kind; scattered to the ashes.  
With them was the sense of unity that had been lost amidst the flames. It feels pretentious and overdramatic, but Skeppy could see that the warmth Sapnap had begun showing in their days with the caravan had faded after they split.

He feels guilty as well, as though he could've done something to rekindle Sapnap's trust in him.  
But he turns his attention back outwards, to the boys and their conversation.

"Maybe he wouldn't be so angry at Dream if we could find his soulmate somehow," Tubbo volunteers, and Tommy shakes his head.

"How would we do that? We don't even know if it's a guy or a gal. Or if they're in this dimension. And if we somehow found them, how would we know it was them?"

Skeppy contributes,

"And how would we get them to talk to Sapnap to confirm it?"

Tubbo winces a little,

"Yeah, I guess it was a bit daft. But I don't have any better ideas exactly, unless you have soulmate bait."

"We have him," Skeppy says suddenly, "We do have soulmate bait. His mate is sure to come looking eventually if they're alive, right? So if we can keep him alive, maybe we can get them to meet. They could maybe mellow down his anger and things could go better."

The boys glance through the orb to meet each other's eyes, giggling slightly.

"Sapnap on a stick," Tommy finally says, and Tubbo begins to cackle.

"Sapnap on a hook!" He wheezes out, and Skeppy watches them fondly. He had never been big on kids, but he's grown attached to Tubbo and Tommy. The pair clearly shares a deep bond, to the point where they didn't even want to be separated for...a couple days? Give or take.  
He joins in making jokes about Sapnap being bait, but as the moon rises, he remarks,

"Tubbo, we should hit the hay. Tommy? Take care alright?" Tommy nods, and Tubbo waves before allowing the light to fade from the orb.

"I hope to fuck he doesn't decide to spy on me while I'm taking a piss," Tubbo murmurs, "I don't control when he activates his half of the set." Skeppy shudders,

"Thanks for reminding me not to piss anywhere near you. Not that I would, but like extra motivation."

He glances at the meat, groaning as he turns it a bit.

"It's going to be fuckin charred if I'm not careful." He waves one of the legs at Tubbo, "Care for some rabbit flavored charcoal?"

* * *

With a soft pattering, rain begins to fall around their campsite as Skeppy leans back, watching the sky as it clouds and is obscured from his view. Tubbo flinches under the onslaught of water drops, and in a moment of sympathy and the realization that he shouldn't let his armor get wet, Skeppy tugs him over.

"Here," he says gently, pulling off his chainmail and his sweater, popping the latter over Tubbo's head, much to the bafflement of the boy. "You don't like rain, right? That should help keep you drier."

He flips the hood up, and Tubbo pipes up timidly,

"Won't you be cold?" Skeppy shakes his head, unbuckling his greaves and tucking his armor- with the exception of his leather bracers- into his backpack to shield it from the water.

"It's only midsummer, Tubbo," he reassures him, "And I'm not really suffering for body heat." He gestures to his dark turtleneck, and Tubbo seems to realize that the other was wearing this all under armor. He looks a little astonished that Skeppy hasn't died, or something, from heatstroke alone.  
But he lets out a little yawn, and nestles into the garment, which fits surprisingly well.

"...Thanks, Skeppy," he murmurs, already tired. Their earlier sparring and hunting seems to have really tuckered the poor kid out.

Skeppy smiles weakly, affectionately, and waits as his eyes drift shut, Fundy nestled next to him in a small ball of orange and white fur.  
Tentatively, Skeppy reaches over to stroke the fox, who yawns and nudges his hand with a knowing look in its dark eyes. The night around the trio is silent aside from the soft drizzle of the raindrops as they splash off leaves and grass.

The air is fresh and chilly, and despite his words to Tubbo, Skeppy finds himself shivering a little in the absence of his sweater.

He's awake for hours, till the sky clears once again and the stars come out. Silently, he reaches up towards the stars and maps out constellations Bad had shown him, his favorites.  
Bad never put much stock in astrology, but he adored the stars. Sometimes, they made their own constellations. His lips curve up in a halfhearted smile, which quickly falls as he thinks about Bad.

His poor, sweet Bad, trapped somewhere alone, possibly being hurt at this very moment. His outstretched hand snaps shut, clenching tightly at the thought. A protective (or possessive?) coil of emotion stirs in his gut, and he feels it force its way up into his throat, filling his mouth with bitterness like a metaphorical bile.

The very concept of hurting him is- reprehensible. Skeppy can't understand why anyone would do that; sure, his pranks sometimes backfired, his jokes fell flat and caused tears to spring to those eyes that usually gazed at him with such fondness, but he never, ever intended to hurt him. The sight of him crying always made a sickening feeling seize him until things were better.  
He glances down from the stars to their dying fire, and to Tubbo's sleeping form. He's sure that Tubbo already dearly misses his friend, and after hearing how the two planned to split up to try getting Skeppy and Sapnap to make up, he feels he's underestimated the two young men.

They've got determination and are smart- though Tubbo seems to be the one planning things while Tommy is the ruthless determination. They seem pragmatic for people their age, too.

That thought makes Skeppy wonder how old they actually are- it was vaguely implied they're not yet adults, culturally or physically. How would years be measured in the Nether, where there is supposedly no day nor night, no way to track the passing time?  
But he shakes off the question and resolves to ask Tubbo tomorrow. He lays down on his side, staring away into the grass with a melancholic whisper in his mind.

_You're so alone and out of your element, Zak. How are you going to do this? How can you possibly save Darryl?_

Skeppy shuts his eyes and forces himself away from that thought, feeling small paws press into him as Fundy clambers up onto his hip and curls into a small furry donut. The warmth of the animal is enough to lull Skeppy into an uneasy sleep filled with bloody pawprints and planters full of foxglove.

* * *

He's likewise woken by the fox yipping and growling at something in the grass. It can't be later than seven in the morning, and Skeppy blinks blearily, trying to get up and realizing that in his sleep, he tossed and turned his way over next to Tubbo, who is now clinging tightly to him and preventing him from standing.

With a pang, Skeppy recalls how he and Tommy would always fall asleep nestled together. It was probably just instinct to grab onto someone nearby.  
Reluctant to wake him just yet, Skeppy stops trying to stand, asking Fundy gently,

"Hey furbrain, what's the problem? You see another fox?" Tail lashing angrily, Fundy bares fangs at Skeppy's playful tease, letting out a sound only able to be described as a wail before rocketing away into the grass.

Now concerned, Skeppy carefully pulls free of Tubbo's cling, ignoring the soft whimper the boy makes before hugging himself tightly, and stands up, looking over in the direction Fundy had taken off.

He's not got _twenty-twenty_ vision necessarily, but even he can see the silhouettes on the hill, outlined dimly against the lightening sky. He squints, trying to make out details, and realizes with a jolt that these are more of those same zombified entities that had passed the caravan that night.  
 _'They're blind,'_ Sapnap had told him. Not knowing how good their hearing is but believing they're far enough away, Skeppy takes the risk of stepping into the grass, calling softly,

"Fundy? Sorry about calling you a furbrain Fundy, can you come back?" The grass near him rustles, and he kneels, expecting to see the fox but is instead met with two clear blue eyes that blink calmly.  
A Siamese cat yawns at him, and saunters out towards the campsite, only to be followed by the orange bolt of Fundy dashing to stand in front of Tubbo, protectively. Skeppy looks on, confused, and asks, voice low despite the zombies being far away,

"What on earth is going on, you two? Better question, where the fuck did you come from, cat?"

  
The cat stretches, and opens its mouth for a yawn, tail swaying. Fundy watches it warily, and with good reason.  
In another second and a small flicker of light, the cat isn't there- instead, there's a young man with curly brown hair and a pair of glasses perched on his nose.

Skeppy doesn't know when he pulled his sword out, but he's got the other at its tip in a flash.

"Who are you? What are you??" He demands warily, and the newcomer puts his hands up. Fundy seems relaxed now, however, seeing the true nature of the seemingly innocuous cat.

"My name's Ant," he says in a nervous voice, "Sorry about just coming into your campsite and all the transforming biz! I'm lost."

Skeppy shakes his head and sighs,

"That answers one thing halfassed, and not the other." Ant sheepishly lowers his head, pushing up the slipping glasses.

He doesn't seem like a threat. Skeppy can see the weapons he's carrying; a dirk at his waist and what looks like a shortbow on his back with its quiver. But he gives off a very meek energy, quiet, like he'd rather not be causing a commotion.

Ant begins to explain,

"I'm just a shifter, but look alright- I got separated from my boyfriend in the storm a few days ago and I've been looking for him ever since. We were heading to the city, just for your information. Red- that's him- got caught in a flood when we were upriver. I'm not sure if he switched back to human when he got drenched but I'm hoping he did! He's not dead, I know that much. I was just hoping you could give me directions because traveling as a nearsighted cat is surprisingly counterproductive. Also, you _haven't_ seen any red tabbies around, have you?"

Skeppy, dazed by the information dump, shakes his head, and stutters out,

"I, uh, I haven't, no. Not that I remember. I only even found you because Fundy was freaking out and raising the dead. Guess he doesn't like cats. Or shifters. Or strangers."

Ant, knowing he falls into all three categories, grimaces before making a comeback with a weak grin.

"Yeah, sorry about setting off the fox. He's smart. So, can you give me directions? I travel as a cat since it's less troublesome but it also means I get turned around a lot."

  
Skeppy hesitates. He is literally heading to the city, he could easily just take the shifter with him. He's heard talk of shifters; they're a secluded race of nearly exclusively mages. He's never met one before though, and that's unsurprising seeing as they're rumored to live mostly in the mountains, far away from other people.

Ant reaches out tentatively towards Fundy while waiting and the fox yawns, almost deliberately showing off his fangs. It's like the cat shifter isn't fazed by the sword pointing at him as Skeppy contemplates whether or not it's a good decision to bring him.

"...let me talk to my friend," he says reluctantly, and leans down to rouse Tubbo with a gentle murmur of the boy's name. Jerking upright, Tubbo rubs his eyes, mumbling,

"Wha- waz happenin', waz going on?" Skeppy explains the situation to him in a hushed tone while Ant follows Fundy around the now-dead fire curiously, much to the fox's dismay. He yips at Ant, and ducks behind Skeppy's feet, staring at the shifter with wide eyes. Tubbo glances up, still bundled up in Skeppy's sweater, and asks Ant,

"So...you're lost and heading to Gotopia, right? Hoping to find uh, Red, there?" Ant nods, and Tubbo continues. "Why were you two heading there? Isn't it awfully far from where you shifters live?"

"We work in the city during the late summer and fall actually," Ant explains, "So we were trying to find our way there, but we usually would take a wagon. Unfortunately the rising conflict with the Nether has made it harder and harder for anyone in our hometown to hire drivers or even bodyguards. Nobody wants to fuck with the Nether, especially not a village of archivists, you know?" Skeppy's nodding slowly, seeing the picture that Ant is laying out for him. "I smelled a human so I came over here to see what you were like in hope of getting directions. I...didn't smell two," he admits, almost embarrassed.

Clearly he doesn’t know that Tubbo isn't human.

Skeppy looks on in sympathy now, and asks,

"Red- is he your soulmate then?" Ant nods brightly. Almost a quarter of the population finds their soulmate, so it's not surprising. "Have you had any dreams about him?"

Ant taps his chin, and nods.

"One of a dingy room where he was curled up in a little cat bed. That's why I think he got washed downstream and made his way to the city! Once I get there, I can probably find him or at least get a message sent home." Skeppy glances to Tubbo curiously, and Tubbo shrugs.

"Let's take him with us, Skeppy, it's not like it's out of our path."

Skeppy agrees, and he lowers his sword.

"Alright, we're heading to the city ourselves, so you can tag along. One condition," he points to Fundy, "No harassing our furball. He isn't a cat, he bites."

Fundy makes a protesting "mrrrup" and sits up neatly. Tubbo laughs, and coaxes the vulpine onto his lap, ruffling his fur. Ant nods eagerly.

"I promise! And I won't be much trouble, I'll just be following you as a cat mostly! Thank you so much," he says in relief.

"I know how the separation bullshit feels," Skeppy sighs softly, "I hope you find him once we get there."  
Tubbo stands up and taps his shoulder,

"Also, would you like your sweater back?" He asks Skeppy, who shakes his head.

"If you're still cold, hang onto it. There's still clouds on the horizon after all. Ant, are you any good at cooking or hunting? It's around another day or two to the city, by the way."

Ant nods,

"I can hunt. For someone who's nearsighted I'm good with a bow. And I think I have some cooking supplies in my pack-" He pauses, his cheeks flushing as he realizes, "Oh...uh, never mind that actually! I think I must've lost it in the flood. The water seemed positively violent, I think the meltwater from the high mountains had finally reached the river. Just our bad luck that we were there when it got scary."

Skeppy shrugs, and stands up, hauling his pack with him before checking their course and starting to walk,

"Let's get going. We should get within sight of the walls by tonight, hopefully- if we don't, it'll be in sight by tomorrow from what I remember of the map."

  
They begin to trudge along, Tubbo making cheerful conversation with the shifter as the rain begins to drizzle down again.  
Despite the lightness of his companions chatting, Skeppy feels heavy, like something is weighing in his chest. He doesn't trust Ant, despite the other seemingly having innocent intentions that don't really differ that much from Skeppy's own; reach the city in hopes of finding his soulmate.

No, what unnerves him is how vicious Fundy had been upon smelling- presumably- the shifter, or seeing the zombies.  
The zombies- he makes a note of it, deciding not to ruin the cheerful conversation right now. He shivers at the memory of their shapes on the hill, standing there with no distinct features; just hunched, unnerving figures.

Their new companion in tow, they make their way onwards into a dreary, overcast day that feels numb and almost stuffy, the humid air indecisively flipping between being lukewarm, sticky and hot, or chilly and uncomfortably moist. Skeppy dreads building a fire in this, and jokingly asks if Ant knows any fire magic. Tubbo stares at him with amusement as the shifter shakes his head, and Skeppy suddenly remembers that Tubbo, too, is a mage, and one from the Nether nonetheless- of course he'd know fire magic.  
On the topic of his magehood, Skeppy begins to eye the pouch the boy is carrying the orb in, wondering when Tommy will next contact them or if they should establish contact first.

It seems like a terrible day for everyone, weatherwise, and Tommy doesn't have a sweater to cover himself with.  
Skeppy hopes that Sapnap has something in his bag to help the boy.

Wet Tommy is probably a grouchy Tommy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of the side characters who appear in this book stand a chance of making it into sequels or oneshot collections...just sayin ;3


	18. Chapter 18

Sapnap hurtles back under the trees, hissing in dismay.

"It's pouring!" He whines, and Tommy, standing out in the open, gives him an unimpressed sneer.

"Nick, it's been an hour of this! Just say you're a pussy and be done with it, for fuck's sake. Ye aren't even from the Nether but you're whining and moaning over a drizzle!" He marches over and grabs the older boy by his arm, hauling him out into the rain despite his protests.

Despite Tommy being from the Nether and mildly averse to water, he only flinches now and then at the water dribbling down him, while Sapnap, who is supposedly unaffected, is whining the whole way down the hill.  
Tommy punches him a little rougher than would be playful,

"You're just a big baby, you're not even hurt by water. You went SWIMMIN'! You just don't like rain."

Sapnap refuses to answer. He knows that, in part at least, his moodiness is from missing Skeppy and Tubbo now that they've been separated long enough for his anger to settle and steep.  
He's even begun to consider that perhaps he was...maybe overreacting a bit. In the moment, he felt it was justified, but now he's having little doubts, his emotions thickening into an uncomfortable stew he can't seem to swallow.

The sting of what he saw as betrayal has yet to fade, even as his doubts grow.

 _And I didn't tell Skeppy Bad is probably a mage. I should've.  
_He pockets the thought and follows Tommy now, unprotestingly, though not docile.

His dreams last night were empty, just a white expanse of snow, like nothing he's seen in any world. He had floundered around in the powdery depths, only to wake up, gasping, when his head went under.

Tommy glances back at his now silent companion. If he wasn't dragging the black haired boy after him, he would've slipped off to talk with Tubbo, but he admits that traveling as much as they can before they talk is probably wiser. Despite the vacant look in Sapnap's gaze, Tommy is sure he's thinking of something. Pretty intensely, at that.

They come to a stop at a creek, Sapnap now studying the water with interest while Tommy looks around for a quick way across it that doesn't involve jumping it.  
He's sure he could make it, don't get it twisted. He just feels like jumping a creek is stupid, especially with mud that might fuck up an otherwise perfect jump.

He walks a bit up and downstream, coming back to find Sapnap sticking his arms in the chilly water, pulling them back with cupped hands.

"Look Tommy!" His tone is full of delight as he tilts his water-filled hands towards the blond, "I caught a fish!!"

Tommy looks at the tiny minnow in Sapnap's hands, studying it curiously.

"So you did," he murmurs, "A bloody tiny one, but a fish."

Sapnap can't help giggle, his moodiness somewhat buried by simple delight as he plunges his hands back into the creek so the minnow can swim away.

"If we head a touch upstream," Tommy says, "There's a narrow part where there isn't mud so we can jump it easier. Come on Fishnap."

Sapnap rolls his eyes at the latest nickname he's acquired, and follows him regardless.  
They hop over easily, Sapnap pretending to theatrically stumble, 'narrowly' avoiding falling in. Tommy resists the urge to push him in for real.

Though the separation certainly has affected the group, Sapnap still seems to be stubbornly planted in his belief that it was for the best to split- at least, from Tommy's view.  
He can't see the silent doubts that have sprung up over all of this. He can't tell that Sapnap finds himself pining for Skeppy's attention, having grown fond of the hunter despite how recently they had met. Things just came so naturally between them, from plans, to banter, to jokes. They just were...really easy friends.

Sapnap laughs bitterly in his head at the stupidity of the statement, but he can't deny they had a chemistry, in a platonic way. He couldn't imagine dating the idiot, not to mention how hellbent Skeppy was on getting his soulmate back. His frustration over the topic becomes increasingly more obvious, and Tommy nudges him.

"What's yer issue?" He drawls slightly, almost playfully, "Missing anyone?"

Sapnap rolls his eyes.

"You wish. Tommy, is there a word for when you just click really well with someone, like almost in a chemistry way, but only as friends?"

Tommy groans.

"You didn't pass primary school, did you?" Sapnap glares. "Fine, fine, that's called compatibility. Y'know? Compatible personalities and all that shit?"

 _Compatible_. The word sounds right, and Sapnap eases up a bit on his glare.

"...I did pass school," he mutters in a petty tone, "But thanks."

They lapse into silence for a good portion of the day, until it's time to find shelter or something similar.

Sapnap circles the bluff they're passing, and checks for caves. His map says there's some in the area, and sure enough, there's one at the base, a low and cramped cave, but it will do. The two of them squeeze in, and Sapnap glances around, taking in the area so as to make sure nothing is _in_ the cave with them.  
No sign of anything. Sapnap prays it will stay that way, because he's only able to crawl in this cave at best, not even able to stand up to a full half of his height, and fighting while squatting was _undesirable_ , to say the very least.

  
Tommy, outside in the bushes with his orb, begins to talk to Tubbo, catching up the other on what's happened for him.

"We met this fellow," Tubbo says, wrapped in blue fabric Tommy vaguely recognizes, "named Ant, short for Antfrost. He's a shifter, you know? Those neat shapeshifting mages Phil was tellin' us about? He lost his boyfriend an' since he's heading to the city we brought him with us. He's a very cute Siamese cat, when he isn't a human."

Tommy shakes his head in exasperated amusement.

"Tubbo, you've lost it," he says jokingly, "But tell your cat friend I said "Ello, pussy". Is that Skeppy's sweater?" Tubbo flips the hood up with a grin and a nod.

"He let me wear it since the rain was getting to me. It's pretty snug, I see why he wears it even under his chainmail!" Tommy laughs, and begins to detail how he had been hauling a pouty Sapnap around all day, bemoaning and exaggerating details until he realizes it's dark.

"Shit, Tubbo," he says, "It's dark and I should get in the cave before some bastard tries to shoot me. I'll talk to you tomorrow, a'ight? Punch Skeppy for me."

Tubbo's still laughing when the orb fades to black. Tommy heads back to the cave, mildly alarmed to see Sapnap's glowing eyes in the darkness.  
They don't say anything, just nod to each other and slide the bedrolls under themselves before preparing to sleep.

Tommy's out like a light, snoring softly, but Sapnap spends a few hours uncomfortable and shifting in search of a position where he doesn't feel crushed and trapped.

He eventually falls asleep squished against Tommy and facedown, his face hidden against his elbow.

* * *

_Gentle hands comb his hair out of his eyes, a voice quietly tells him to take a deep breath._

_"It's going to be okay Nick," a light voice soothes, a boy's...a man's?...voice soothes, and he babbles something softly, his arm burning where he had been gored by the claws of the THING._

_"Be brave and hold on, I've almost got the spine out." The speaker tugs, causing a pain to rocket through his arm-_

_And he plunges into the field of snow, but this time as he flounders to his eventual live burial, he can see a figure in the direction he's struggling._

* * *

Sapnap's eyes snap open and he takes a deep breath, shakily drawing in the crisp morning air.

_What the fuck was that?_

He can still feel the soft powdery snow clinging to him, so light and yet overwhelmingly chilling. How it dragged him down into the depths of it, how he struggled uselessly in his attempts to surface and breathe- and this time, see who it was. He could _see_ the figure's brown hair, fluffy and voluminous. Details, that he could _finally_ see the barest hint of.  
This snow nightmare has been haunting him for months. _Months_ , with no answer, no variation, nothing! Since before he got to the Overworld, even. And now... He groans softly, rolling away from Tommy-  
Or where Tommy _had_ been. He realizes the other must have slipped out while he was still sleeping, possibly to use the bathroom or something similar.

Sapnap drags himself out of their shelter, bringing their bedrolls with him as he glances around the brightly lit clearing in the copse, the grass and leaves still heavy with morning dew. Spiderwebs glisten like silk hung with prisms, and everything is silent. He feels like birds should be singing by this hour, but the air is foggy, hanging around him like a cold sheet of gauzy fabric.  
The whole area feels alien, even to him. For a little while, he finds it idyllic, almost calm, but after a few minutes pass of him rolling up the bedrolls and searching for Tommy, it begins to feel...suffocating.

Claustrophobic, but yet...too open. He feels the fog around him growing lighter as he walks, searching for the blond.

"Tommy?" He calls, shifting his pack slightly to have better access to his sword, "Tommy??"

Still nothing. He nudges something with his foot, something solid and warm-  
At first he thinks it's Tommy, either recently killed or asleep like an idiot out in the fog, but after his shrill shriek initially, he leans down to find that it's a deer. Just a deer.

_With its blood seeping into the grass around them, staining the soil, and deep scores brutally torn into its side, scattering its entrails around it._

  
Sapnap's stomach plummets like a stone, then hurtles upwards, and he heaves up whatever he last ate, until he's coughing and sputtering, stumbling away from it, away from the suddenly overwhelming coppery scent of blood and back towards the cave, calling out Tommy's name, his voice cracking.

He's not scared, he shouldn't be. There's nothing to be afraid of, it's just a dead deer. Maybe a cougar got to it, or a lone wolf. He can't shake a sense of primal terror though, and he nearly sobs when he collides with a figure- a living, human, figure -who is standing near the cave.

Tommy looks at him quizzically, and then with relief,

"N-"

"Don't say it," Sapnap hisses, already hearing 'Nick'. "Dude we, we're, not alone. We need to get going- where the hell were you?"

Tommy runs his hand through his hair and says dismissively,

"Taking a shit."

He had been checking in on Tubbo, and it brought him a small relief to see how his friend was tucked against Skeppy, the elder protectively slinging an arm across the sleeping teenager. At least nothing will happen to Tubbo with Skeppy there- even though Tommy doesn't trust that cat person at all.  
He says none of that, instead getting an understanding nod from Sapnap.

"Look," he begins nervously, watching as Tommy dismissively teases his fingers through his hair, "I found a corpse. A deer- but it was totally shredded, I kinda threw up. We need to get going before whatever killed it comes back- the body was still like...warm. It was recent, definitely within the past hour."

Tommy's gaze sharpens, and he looks around instinctively, now alert and at the ready for any predator. They climb up the bluff to get a look around through the lightening fog, gaining their bearings, and start to set off. They're now uncomfortably aware of the silence in these woods, since they strayed off the main road quite a while ago. It was quicker this way, the map had said, but Sapnap can't find any indicator warning of danger on it. So...it was surely just a lone predator.

Sapnap unconsciously quickens his pace, almost too focused on the sounds around him. He can hear his heartbeat, and Tommy looks at him, a little perplexed.

"Sapnap," he tests the name gingerly, "aren't you a bit- uh...You seem a touch riled up, and it really can't be allat bad, can it?"

Sapnap rolls his eyes at how he contracts 'all that', but answers curtly,

"Tommy, I have a very bad gut feeling about this. Listen to how quiet it is. And whatever killed the deer TORE into it and scattered its guts around like they were some kind of toy. I'm not even sure it killed it to eat, and if it did, _I probably spooked it, and it ran off to wait for me to leave._ Meaning it knows my scent, knows there's humans here. Look around us."  
  
Tommy indulges him, scanning his eyes over the birch trees, raising an eyebrow.

"Not much there to look at, just somewhat foggy trees and rocks, aye?"

Sapnap gestures vigorously,

"There's no birds, there's no squirrels! There's. Nothing. Here."

He's now jogging, and Tommy is having to take longer and longer strides to keep up despite his height advantage. The blond shrugs.

"Sapnap, it's not that bad," he insists, "You're just a bit paranoid."

Sapnap bites his lip and resists the urge to snap at him, instead taking a shallow breath and, exhaling his words all at once, tells him flatly,

"There's nothing moving around us and no sign of anything other than insects. Places like this aren't deserted without a reason. Tommy, you might not know much about the Overworld, so here's a little lesson; if somewhere is totally empty and there's a corpse of any creature, then you should probably not be there. There's many things that run amok freely and we could be dealing with one. Best case scenario I scared off a cougar who was about to eat. Worst case..."

He trails off, hoping he made the picture clear enough. Tommy looks unimpressed, however, and remarks,

"I bet I could take it. Whatever it is. But if it makes you happy, let's speed up 'n get outta here."

Tommy isn't helping, his words only make Sapnap more agitated. He knows something is wrong, he can feel it- an itch in his palms, like something is crawling in his hands. It's unnerving, it's wrong, and most importantly, he's never had his intuition fail him when it came to this feeling.  
He doubts his unease is based entirely in paranoia. After all, he may have freaked out a bit more than maybe _necessary_ upon finding the deer's body, but...well, he wasn't exactly sure where that train of thought was really going. If there's ANYTHING running around killing deer, he has all the right to be a little anxious, a bit on edge...after all, they're not bigger than deer- and they're weaker than them.

He shakes his head slightly.  
_Stop trying to justify all your thoughts, idiot. Something's out there._

"Just don't run off out of my sight, okay?" Sapnap urges Tommy, who scoffs, a swagger in his step.

"Sap I can MORE than handle myself. You should watch your own back in this situation. After all, you're shorter than me."

Sapnap rolls his eyes at him, and retorts,

"By a few inches. Don't be stupid Tommy, you know what I mean. If something attacks one of us, the other should be close by so we can protect each other."

 _Maybe splitting from Skeppy was a bad idea, like a really bad one. He knows about wild animals and shit, he'd surely know what that deer was killed by.  
_The thought sweeps his mind before he can stamp it out, and his eyes burn with shame, faint pinpricks in the corners warning him of his tears before they began to escape. He surreptitiously wipes his eyes on his sleeve.

The longer he thinks it over, the more he was in the wrong. He lashed out at his friend, didn't give him a chance to explain. He barely knew who Dream was, and didn't have Sapnap's personal vendetta.  
While Sapnap's mouth is still filled with a bitter taste thinking about the prince, he has to admit that others might not see him as so inexcusable. Many leaders make decisions leading their people to their death. It wasn't as though what happened to Sapnap's family was out of the ordinary during wartime.

His frustration clouds his mind, and he stares at the ground beneath his feet as he trots along, determined to get out of the woods before nightfall.  
Tommy, though he covered it up with arrogance and bluster, is scared too. Soon before he had found Sapnap in the fog, there had been something crashing in the bushes not too far from him. He originally thought it was Sapnap, and decided to jokingly loop around back to their campsite, psyche him out a little...but then he ran into Sapnap. In front of him.

And he began to realize that...maybe that thing in the bushes, wasn't actually Sapnap after all.  
But he doesn't want to consider what else it could be; he just follows the older boy, glancing about nervously. Nothing moves, but the fog hasn't cleared yet either, so it simultaneously looks like everything is moving...

Fronds of grass and slender ferns, branches draped in lichens, rocks...their shapes distort in the fog, and the faint rippling gives this deeply unsettling feeling that everything is more alive than thought before.

Without really considering it, Tommy grabs Sapnap's hand. The raven-haired boy jumps, and glances back, before exhaling in relief that it was just Tommy, nothing else. Tommy waits for a snarky remark, or something of that sort, but it doesn't come.  
What does come is a single, resounding noise.

 _Snap_.


	19. Chapter 19

They both freeze, eyes scanning the fog for anything, any movement. Maybe one of them snapped a stick, Sapnap tries to logic, but then he hears another crack, and he sucks in a quiet breath.  
The thing, whatever it is, is growling softly as it sniffs about, a snuffling sound accompanying it. Sapnap reaches to draw his sword, only to realize it would make a grating sound, surely, and attract the creature's attention.

Lose-lose-lose. If they stand here it's sure to find them, if they fight it, it will find them for sure, and if they run they risk turning their backs on it.

  
Just Sapnap's luck to end up in a foggy forest with some kind of beast. Tommy's grip on his hand is bruising, the blond's eyes wide and his breathing all but silent.  
He's barely even moving at all. Fight, flight, freeze- freeze winning out.  
  
The sound moves closer, and Sapnap slowly, slowly, bends down and tentatively wraps his hand around a rock, tossing it away into the fog as hard as he could.

It strikes a tree harshly, the crack of it hitting bark echoing in the still air. There's a thick, gravelly snarl before something launched itself in the direction of the sound. Sapnap tugs Tommy along, gesturing to the ground so he'll pick up on 'watch the ground, don't break any sticks.'

It's not as easy as it sounds, and Tommy finds himself stumbling multiple times as they back away from whatever was chasing the rock sound.

It was clearly violent, and at the very least, has decent hearing- and from the crashing of a tree behind them, it's strong too. Maybe, just _hopefully_ , it didn't have good vision or smell. If it was depending on its ears, it was something Sapnap could get around, likely. He's worked with creatures that have keen senses of hearing once or twice for Overworld science; a bat and a cat.  
  
Neither was violent and trying to possibly eat him though, and so he finds himself drawing blank after blank on how to handle this.

He's desperately hoping to get out of the woods before the element of distraction is lost, but no such luck. They're moving as stealthily as one can while also being quick, and in spite of this they hear panting and growling as the creature approaches them.  
Now that it's in the light, and unfortunately in view, Sapnap can see the beast; a hulking, unnaturally huge wolf, its fur soot-colored and frosted with jet black near its bulky hindquarters. It bares vicious fangs at them, black gums showing as it curls its lip in a borderline sneer. A growl tears free of it, and it begins circling them, menace clear in its gait.

Sapnap goes back to back with Tommy now, drawing his sword. His eyes never leave the beast's bared fangs, and he feels like he's staring at a rabid animal, which for all he knows, he is.  
Remembering what he knows of canines, he curses internally at not recalling that they take eye contact as a sign of aggression. He shouldn't have glared at it like he had.

It's already violent. It's already trying to figure out which way to attack from- surely it won't make anything better or worse if he looks at it.

He lifts his gaze slowly to look at its eyes, the feral glint in them unmistakable. This being will tear him to pieces without a second thought given a chance; and it's _huge_. At its highest, the beast comes up to his shoulder. If it reared up, it would surely be taller than both him and Tommy.  
Its eyes. They bore into him with animalistic curiosity, sizing him up with their violet depths.

Their...

He can't help it. He gasps, and it snarls, lips pulling back further to reveal more teeth than he would've wanted to ever see from a wolf.

"Tommy," he whispers, "Tommy it might have the parasite. It looks to be the descendant of one of the infected animals my commander had mentioned or another that got infested. Don't let it bite you okay? That shit is hard to disinfect."

Tommy glares at the wolf as it comes into his view, still bristling and ready to spring at them if it weren't for their swords.

"How do we kill it?" He murmurs, and Sapnap replies in an undertone,

"Heart. Stab it as many times as you can, and then go through the skull. If we can, decapitation works well since it severs brain from all oxygen."

He knows they have one shot to kill it properly, and if it does have a parasite that decides to try to latch into one of them, they'll have limited time to run away from it. And he's seen enough people fall to the parasite to know that it acts _fast_. The mages studying it think it has a neurotoxin that makes it so the victim relaxes and gives in faster to the parasitic hold.  
  
So he readies his blade, wondering,

"How many more do you think there are of these are here in the Overworld? These...corrupted, creatures, wandering around slaughtering and breeding?..."

Tommy shrugs, not having an answer.

"On three Tommy...Remember, it's got thick fur, so if you can't land a hard hit on it aim for its legs. Cripple it."

They ready themselves, and Tommy is the first to hurl into the fray, taking a slash at the wolf's side. As warned, its fur is thick and impedes the blade a bit, meaning the slash only cut a shallow score into it, aggravating it. It lunges for Tommy, who drops to the ground, diving under it and then rolling to the side and hopping up with a terrified, yet lighthearted, remark of,

"That's a bloke, has balls. Nearly hit me in the head with them." Sapnap spares a bark of laughter for the other's crude joke, and goes in for a stab at the wolf's eye as it turns back to face them, managing to hit close enough that blood is now sheeting into its vision, causing it to snap and snarl, shaking its head as though to rid itself of the blind spot. Its ears flatten back to its skull, and Sapnap realizes this is worse.

The wolf is now aggravated, and it feels threatened, so it will become more violent, even if it can't see as well. Either that or it retreats, but by the way it stands its ground and whips its head side to side to rid itself of the blood matting in its fur, he doubts it intends to run.  
It lunges for him, now targeting him as the cause of its injury, and he tries to duck away, but miscalculates by a few inches that ends with him getting just barely plowed over by the canine's paw as it skids to a stop, snapping back around to go for the kill. Sapnap's paralyzed for a second, only seeing the maw of the beast, aimed for his neck; a quick kill where it can shake out any life left in him.

_I'm going to die?_

As though it would do a thing, he brings his hands up to shield himself, the sword still in them- and feels the sword be wrenched in his grasp for a second, almost right out of his hold.  
The wolf is bordering on coughing as it growls at him, backing away. Blood leaks from its mouth, and he realizes it must've chomped down onto the blade and cut its mouth.

To Tommy, it looked like Sapnap was knocked over- and in this brilliant moment, stuck up the sword so that the beast would bite down and injure itself.  
He feels a bit awed by the warrior's strategy, but he has no time to marvel- the wolf now slowly turns to him as it still shakes the blood away, deciding Sapnap isn't worth the bloody mouth.

"Its eyes!" He hears Sapnap shout, and he suddenly has a moment of clarity, reaching into his quiver and drawing out his bow. Still strung- _thank gods above and below Skeppy had taught him to string it the morning before setting out and to carry it ready at all times._

He nocks a shaky arrow, trembling, and draws it up, taking aim slowly.  
 _Steady your hands, wait. The target is right there_. He can hear the calm voice instructing him as he forces deep breaths. The wolf readies for a pounce-  
  
And he let the arrow fly.  
It doesn't hit its eye, but it embeds itself into the wolf's cheek, causing it reel back with a yowl of agony. He's nocking another as soon as he can, taking aim again as Sapnap hauls himself to his feet, readying himself.

They glance to each other, and nod slightly before acting in unison; Tommy loosing his shot for the wolf's chest, where he could puncture a lung, and Sapnap hurling himself onto its back, clinging onto it for dear life as it bucks, agonized whimpering and howling tearing free of its mouth. Tommy's arrow sings true, and punches into its flank, though he doubts it went deep enough.  
It turns to him with a look he could almost call hate, and despite Sapnap clinging onto its back, lunges for Tommy. The teenager doesn't have time to dodge before the huge paws knock him down, pinning his shoulders to the ground.

He can smell its rancid breath, the scent of meat and coppery blood from its fur drifting down to him. All he can do is grab at it, pushing his hand into its chest instinctively in hopes of pushing it away-  
His arm is now burning with pain, and he let out a scream as Sapnap drives his blade into the animal's spine, through the neck, and out the other side.  
Tommy can see the point of the blade jutting through the flesh, coated in gore and dripping blood onto his chest as he desperately tries to wrench his arm free of the wolf's jaw. He begins sobbing, frustrated and pained tears flowing down his cheeks without restraint.

Thankfully, it doesn't take long for its hold to loosen on him, and Sapnap helps pry its fangs out of Tommy's flesh.

_He's losing blood fast oh- oh fucking hell- what should I do?_

Sapnap forces himself to focus and grabs Tommy's dagger, using it to cut a strip off his own shirt, and wraps it tightly around the bleeding gashes in the teen's arm. It's not enough, he knows, and cuts off more, wrapping it desperately, hoping at the very least that the flow is stemmed by how tight the bindings are.  
He grabs Tommy and hauls him to his feet.

"Come on," he pleads urgently, "Let's keep going, we need to get to a place where I can clean that wound and get it bandaged properly."

Tommy, still dazed and foggy with pain, nods, and Sapnap tucks the blond's bow back into his quiver, sheaths his dagger and sword, and yanks his own sword free of the wolf, pushing the carcass away gingerly.  
He doesn't want to waste any time, and so wipes his blade on the grass to get off the majority of the blood before hauling ass away, Tommy being dragged by his good arm.  
 _We only have at most two hours, and it's better to clean it as soon as possible. God, this is a trainwreck.  
_ Sapnap just keeps stumbling off in the direction they had been going, hoping to god it's the right one.

All this, and it's not even two in the afternoon yet- what a SHIT day.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that from this chapter on, I feel the theme of the story grows darker! Proceed with caution, alright?

After a while they stumble to a stop in the grass, near the edge of the river. Sapnap takes a shaky breath, digging through their bags until he finds a small pot that they'd brought with them from the caravan and filled it from the river, starting a fire as quickly as he can, hastily setting the pot practically in the flames and waiting for the water to boil, watching Tommy anxiously.

The blond seems shaken and a bit woozy from having his arm chomped and then being dragged at high speed away from the forest, but relatively okay.

"I need to get that bite clean quickly," Sapnap tells himself aloud, "If I can wash it with boiled water, maybe- maybe I can find some kind of plant to put on it to stop it from getting infected, and then bandage it...properly...I don't, Tommy, do you know any way to make a poultice?"

Tommy shakes his head, baffled, and then Sapnap realizes; _Skeppy knows this stuff.  
_He groans softly, and then with a deep breath, unwraps Tommy's wound, dunking the strips of fabric into the water. It's not bleeding as heavily, but it's still more bloody than comfortable. Tommy watches, and he can see the shift in Sapnap's attitude. His anxious frown, and the look as he sucks his pride up slowly.

"...Tommy? Do you have a way to contact Tubbo and Skeppy?" Sapnap asks quietly. He makes a face as he says it, unconsciously having to suppress his sour feelings towards Skeppy.

Tommy hesitates and then nods.

"I do. Should I use it?"

Sapnap nods, and fishes one piece of the fabric out of the water using sticks, holding a cooled portion gingerly before beginning to clean the bite marks. If the wolf had bit deeper, it might've hit the youth's bone, but as it is, it damaged muscle and likely nerves. Tommy flinches, and though he'd like to say he made no sound, a whine escapes him before he pulls out the orb, activating it.

"Tommy?" Tubbo's voice filters through, distant and tinny, before he adds, "Are you okay? You look pretty-"

"Tubbo," Sapnap cuts in, "I need to ask Skeppy something important. Is he there?"

Tubbo visibly hesitates, and glances off to the side before Skeppy's voice answers calmly,

"Yeah, Sapnap?"

"Look I know we parted on pretty bad terms but- Tommy got bit by a wolf, and it's a pretty bad injury, how do I keep it from getting infected??"

Tubbo gestures a bit, and Skeppy shoves over, appearing next to Tubbo in the orb.

"Uhhh...Wash it with hot water, let it bleed for a while to flush out whatever is in there and...Bad used a lot of plants and like, special clay sometimes. I can't remember them all. Just clean it as best you can, and fucking pray. We can probably get medicine in the city or something from what I took from Bad's kit. I don't think there's much you can really do short of letting him bleed out for several minutes to reduce the risk?..." He winces, and rushes out, "It's unlikely he avoids an infection, Sapnap. He's been bitten pretty bad right? Let me see-"

Tommy shoves his arm into the view of the orb and Skeppy visibly flinches.

"...yeah. If we don't get help from like, a mage in maybe three days, he's definitely getting an infection. Tommy? If you start getting feverish or anything, let Sapnap know right away. You guys need to speed up, I'll meet you in the city once we're-"

A young man leans over curiously into view of the orb,

"Is that a scrying orb?" Tubbo shushes him.

"Ant this is serious! I'll tell you about it la'er, alright?" The young man nods, but Sapnap is already on high alert despite Skeppy being relaxed.

"Once we get there," he completes, "We can find a healer for him."

Sapnap glances at Tommy, and his expression falls a little.  
He didn't protect Tommy well enough. He could've done better- the least he can do is help him if he gets sick from his injury.

"...I'll see you there," he murmurs. He misses Skeppy's slightly brightened expression before Tubbo begins to talk softly to Tommy in what's likely their native tongue.

 _  
I'll make sure you'll be alright,_ Sapnap vows. _  
_

* * *

Bad buries his head against his knees, sucking in a sharp breath.  
By now, he doesn't care about the bitterness of the air, and the scents blend into one overpowering aroma that he's gradually getting used to.

In. Out. In. Out.

He counts his breaths. He stands and paces in circles, counting his steps out loud. His eyes have grown accustomed to the darkness and he can vaguely make out shapes from the tiny sliver of light being let in under the door. Shapes of the bodies.  
No more have turned into skeletons or zombies, and he's been forcing himself to ration his food ever so cautiously.

Bad leans against the wall, staring up at the ever-present pair of luminous green eyes. He chatters to it nonchalantly sometimes, filling the air with his own voice to break the sensation of nothingness.  
But he can hear voices now, other than his own-

He goes down, curling in a ball and holding his head tightly as the screams and pleas grow overwhelming. It happened on the way into this place, and then once again and he- he doesn't understand.

_"Please let me out, I've done nothing wrong."_

A mellow and soft young man's voice calls out in Bad's ears, only for him to hear, and he nods fervently,

"I know, I know," he whispers, "I know, we haven't done anything wrong."

_"Fuck you and your regime! No matter what your history says, you're in the wrong in this situation!"_

The angry shouts of a woman fill his mind this time, and he presses to the wall, scrabbling to get away from where he perceived the source to be.

He's going crazy.

  
That's the only explanation he can think of; he's losing his mind. He's driven himself mad.

"Absolutely batty," he says aloud, and flinches away from a perceived touch- perceived, he thinks, because he can't see anything where the hand seemed to come from. "I'm going bonkers. Losing my marbles."

He giggles softly at the euphemisms, and then tucks his face against his knees again, curling into a ball as a different voice fills the air.

_"Ye and yer whole way of doin' things is gon' be the death of our kingdom."_

Low, gravelly, and with an odd accent that reminds Bad of the piglin brute. How long has it been since he'd seen the brute? Or how long since he'd seen his piglin friend?  
In his mind he doesn't realize he had elevated his ally to friend status, but it's not too hard for someone to make that step with him.

Desperation seizes him through the panic of the ghostly voices that writhe and echo in his mind, and he throws himself at where he knows the door is, banging on it as best he can.

"Please let me out!" He begs, his shout mixing with hundreds of others in his mind, just another voice being gradually lost to the silence, to the darkness. Just another soul consumed by this horrible place.

_Let me out!_

Such a simple request that he knows won't be answered, but his banging on the door does seem to get attention.  
The voices begin to die down as he hears a conversation start up outside of the door.  
  
He strains to hear, to make out words that he can understand.

"He's not giving, is he?" A voice rumbles out lowly, and another responds,

"The bloody bitch stops talking for ten minutes a cycle, I swear. He's either pacing and talking to himself, or he's screaming or he's singing. I can't STAND the singing, he just has all these cutesy cheerful songs that he repeats until he starts crying. Somehow I don't think just this is gonna cut it."

Bad, despite the heat of the place he's in, feels ice run through his veins.  
_Not going to cut it? This, the cell? Did I?_

He hastily begins to tuck his provisions away, feeling as though there is a gaze trained on his back as he hides the box and bundle under a body. He whispers a weak, fearful apology to it.  
_Are they going to do that again? Are they going to burn me more? I- I don't want that! Oh god I- I need to-_

"...well, let's just see if chief would allow us to get more forceful with him. Maybe he'll shut up sooner- and ain't like there's a reason to spare a mage any pain, right? Maybe we can play with him."

The two laugh, and Bad backs away into a corner, the farthest one from the door as possible, cowering as he stares at the door.  
His vision is tunneling, all his attention focused on any sign that the door might be opening. Any sign that they might have decided to...'play' with him. He has a sinking feeling that only could mean more torture for him, more pain; and he's not sure how much more of that he could take.

_How long have I been in this cell?_

"...seems like he heard us. Kinda funny, isn't it? I think he knows what would happen if we got the go-ahead to do that."

The amusement in what he thinks is the voice of a guard sends a shudder down his spine, his body chilled to the core. The heat seems to be doing nothing to curb the icy fear wrapping its fingers slowly around Bad's body.

As his anxiety, and terror, grows, he drags his fingers against the bricks. His nails grate against the rough surface before finding cracks that he digs them into painfully, unconsciously scrabbling at the material until he feels a wetness on his fingertips.

He ignores the blood. He can't afford to look away from the door.

He sits there for ages, worrying at the cracks with his bloodied fingers, hearing the voices in his skull die down to soft whispers.

_The waiting is the worst part._

He can hear his own voice echoing in his mind, as he waits for an eternity. Or so it seems.  
Knees to his chest, hands on the walls, staring at the door as though it alone will kill him if he tears his gaze away for a second.

His heartbeat floods his body, and he can feel it in every part of him.  
The beat travels through his arms, to his pained fingertips, down his legs to his feet that brace against the floor like the wall is a door he's trying to hold shut.  
It throbs in his head, and he swears his vision flickers rhythmically in time with it.  
  
He's alive. He's alive, for now. He might not be alive for long. He's lived longer than he expected.

He's too present in his body. He can feel every breath expanding his chest, each tiny twitch of his muscles. It grows overwhelming, until he wishes for that numbness he initially had in this place, where his body was like another entity.

Finally, he begins to think maybe, just maybe, the 'chief' just wanted him to rot here. That would be okay. He can stay alive in here.  
Maybe they would just leave him alone if he was quiet. Maybe if he shut up, they wouldn't hurt him any more.  
He swallows heavily, feeling his throat jump with the motion and he hates it.

He feels too much. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want this.

_I want out!_

But not like that.

_Let me out!_

But not for torture and horrific agony.  
_I want to see the sun again.  
__I want to see Zak. I want to see George. I want to meet Dream, thank him for saving George. I want to know how Zak is doing.  
_Deep breaths. He tries so hard to calm himself down.  
_I want to leave this place still Darryl._

The thought initially perplexes him, letting him take his mind out of the moment a tiny bit.

He wants to leave this place...as himself? Still himself? Who else could he be?

 _A broken body without a personality. A corpse. A slave. Someone's s-  
_He cuts off that thought, feeling revulsion in his gut that clambers up his throat eagerly. He gulps.

He would kill _himself_ before letting that unfinished thought become a reality.  
But knowing the Nether so far...they wouldn't want that of him. They just want him dead. They want him to be nothing.

Bad stares up now, into the dizzying green eyes, staring deep into their depths as they blink curiously at him.

He starts to ask a question, but swallows his voice with a small whimper.

_Silence. Be silent and I can get out alive._

He can hear footsteps now. He can hear movement. Conversation, too quiet to make out.  
He can hear them stop at the door. He watches with a numb sense of terror so dizzying that he's ready to pass out on the spot.  
He can hear the key in the door. He can hear it starting to drag open-

_No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no-_

He's _paralyzed_. He's been attacked by wild animals and had more mobility than this- his limbs are leaden and adrenaline courses through him, every part of him screaming to run, to do anything to get out of here before that door opens fully.

_Maybe if I stay quiet he'll reconsider._

He knows it won't go like that. The door opens, and a bulky piglin steps down into the cell, surveying until it spots Bad's cowering form.  
Its face twists into what Bad can only assume is a toothy grin as it moves towards him.

"Come here, mage."

He shakes his head, mute with the fear coursing through him. It steps towards him, grabbing him firmly by the arm, its gloved fingers wrapping around him with bruising force.  
Without thought, he cries out in pain, and the guard shakes him, pulling him along.

"Shut up," it snaps, and he does just that, snapping his mouth shut, almost biting his tongue. He's dragged towards the door, initially struggling and fighting to stay here, but when the grip tightens on him to the point of tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks, he goes limp, allowing himself to be dragged out of the cell.

The achingly bright torchlight stabs his eyes, causing them to water further. He looks around as best he can for a second, seeing another piglin, another brute, standing in front of the door patiently.

His knees hit the brick as he's tossed onto the ground in front of the brute, and then his cheek hits the ground as well.

"Pretty small looking for a human," one of the voices remarks mockingly, "Weak. I could break him with a single finger."

He shudders, and feels one of them nudge him with their foot.

"Not so talkative now, is he?" The cruelty of the statement sets in.

Not only would they have him confined to a cell with no water or food or light, but he couldn't even talk to himself without the threat of torture.

"What should we start with?"

Hearing the menace in the brute's tone, Bad began to pull himself up, to his feet, heart pounding as all that fading adrenaline rushes back full force, sweeping him up into a haze.  
He barely manages to get to his feet before he's grabbed, held tightly so he can't escape; still be struggles, kicking and hitting and throwing his weight against the much larger and stronger brute.

Thoughts rush by, flooding the back of his mind with a murmur of voices, of terror.

He's helpless, he realizes too late, his left arm held tightly in the grip of his captor and he struggles fruitlessly. A blow hits his back and he coughs, almost gagging as another makes contact and knocks the wind out of him.

"Quit squirming," the one holding him snaps, "ye'd think a filthy mage would at least try to use magic. Looks like he's a mage AND defective."  
Bad cries out desperately, in pain as his arm is twisted,

"I'm not a mage! Please, I'm not, I swear! I've never done magic!"

This only earns him a bruising blow to the side.

"Yer kind always try that card," the one hitting him spat spitefully, "yer not a mage, any more than the one who killed my clanmates. Yer not a mage, any more than the one who massacred our people and violated yer treaties."

Pain is causing his head to spin, their words becoming incoherent as he tries to make even a tiny bit of sense of what he did understand through their thick, gravelly accents and then-

_Arms aren't supposed to bend that far, are they? I-_

There's a snapping and he hears his voice tear from his throat involuntarily, his scream echoing down the hall.  
_Please, it hurts it's- I- that's my bone, it's broken, oh god they- they snapped it? It's broken? Can I splint?_

Even in the midst of his pain induced haze, thoughts of healing the injury still float to mind. Bad has been a healer too long to avoid his well-trained fix-it nature.  
Upon realizing what they'd managed to do, the two piglin sneer and continue to taunt and jeer at him.

It occurs to him that their vendetta seems personal; he's just an easy target for them to take their anger at mages out on.  
That doesn't change the fact that he's being dragged along by his broken arm, his voice hoarse and fading from shrieking and begging, pleading in a weak tone for them to just put him back.

"I'll be q- quiet," he babbles, in panic, "Please, just let me go back to the cell! I'll, I'll do anything, please don't, it hurts, it r- it r, r, really hurts!! It hurts, please, no more! I- I wanna go home! I, I, I- _Geppy-"_

His voice breaks as he struggles weakly, tears running down his face and blood dripping down his chin from where he bit his tongue, or his cheek- he's not sure, he can just taste coppery liquid in his mouth and feel it dribbling down his skin.  
_Zak, Zak I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I miss you, please come help- please, I, I need you!_

His pleading only draws more derision as they continue discussing what to do to him, coldly, as though he isn't even there.

"They say he healed the burns," one notes, "we could just do a bunch of those since he seems able to fix them. Keep doing it, see how long it takes for him to lose his voice screaming."

"I- I'm sorry about your family," Bad tries desperately, "the mage who killed them shouldn't have! B, b-but please, I'm, I'm not that mage...please don't h-" he swallows heavily, choking down the blood in his mouth, "-hurt me any more...I just want to go t, to sleep.."

His apology, and its proffered truce, is met with anger and him being violently yanked along, causing a jolt of pain to rebound throughout his body.  
It was like they were cracking him. Slowly but surely breaking him, physically and mentally- he was already exhausted. He couldn't- he couldn't do this.

_Zak I'm sorry, I don't think I'm going to make it. I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you, I won't be able to thank you, or anything. I'm so sorry to take away your best friend and your soulmate at the same time like this. I’m sorry it ends like this._

The apology ricochets in his skull, and he goes silent now, his throat raw and aching.

"Ye don't talk about my family," the brute hisses, "bitch. You're a filthy two tongued mage trying to talk himself out of his situation but look at yourself, elderberry sucker."

At first his words don't make sense, but then Bad remembers it's an uncommon (in fact, mostly phased out) insult for mages that implied they were just drunkards dreaming up their powers.  
And despite his pain and the gravity of his situation...

Bad laughs.

  
His laughter, though hoarse and painful, is sweet and soft and it bubbles up inside him uncontrollably, broken and desperate.

He was called a drunkard! _Him!_ He'd had maybe a pint of alcohol in his life.

It's so absurd to him in the moment that he can't stop laughing, even when they knock the air out of his lungs.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this chapter contains further depictions of torture! Proceed with caution.

The laughter seems to help ease his pain in some areas, he notices faintly, as it finally peters out, a few minutes later after they gave up beating him into silence.

He recognizes the layout of the room they enter, the table, the bellows, and the bed of coals with the irons resting in them.  
One suggests,

"Maybe we can just set coals on him instead of metal. Think it would work more?"

"I've never tried," the other shrugs, chaining the once again desperate human down to the table on his stomach, his back exposed.

Bad has never tried that either, but he's sure it won't be any better. If anything, he's sure it would be worse, and even though he had somehow healed the burns before, he wasn't confident in his ability to do it again.

He feels sick. He's going to throw up, he thinks for a second- but then he swallows, and presses his cheek to the metal beneath him. It's warm, as everything else in this place is, and yet it's comforting for some reason.

He closes his eyes, waiting in dread for them to do whatever they may.  
Some of the things he can imagine them doing are worse than others, though. There's a tug on his waistband, and he tenses, but it's just drawing it down so there's more back exposed to burn.

He let out an inaudible sigh of relief. Being burned is better than being- _used_.  
They're both horrible, but he can't imagine how he'd handle himself if that was to happen.

He pushes it violently out of his mind. That was an absolute worst-case scenario. Right now he needs to focus on the-

The brands.  
He feels one press into his skin, being held longer than the ones before, his back arching forward into the metal bench, his mouth colliding against the metal, bashing his lip into it as he muffles his wail of pain.  
It didn't get easier, the pain is still causing his body to shudder, hands twitching and broken half-phrases struggling out of his mouth.

He has a brief moment of respite as the iron is drawn back, and he heaves in a deep breath, the new pain renewing the tears in his eyes. The pulse of his heartbeat, so quick, like a little rabbit, matches the pulses of pain in his broken arm and the burn and his bruises, and a muffled sob escapes him.

Then the iron is back, on his side over his ribs now, and he's _screaming_ , god, his vision is flickering again-  
He thinks he might be losing consciousness for a second, but he's not, he WISHES he would lose consciousness.

_Make it stop._

Another press into his skin, another weak scream torn from his throat. He loses count of how many they force upon his frail body, but eventually he fades into a stupor, mind locked away firmly behind the wall of sheer agony flooding his body. It was more than the ten he had the first time, or the fifteen the second. So many more.  
  
He can't even remember what an aloe is this time, let alone think of how to heal himself.

The metal meets his skin once again, and he can't scream anymore, just weakly exhale as his vision fades mercifully to black, his thoughts just- stopping. Nothing more.  
He's dragged back down the hall, back to his cell.

* * *

The guard from before, the one who holds the golden watch close to their chest as they watch Bad's body be dragged back to be thrown into the cell carelessly, steps up to do their shift. They wait, listening with baited breath, to see if Bad would even wake up.

They even peep into the cell a few times.

For now, his unconscious form is strewn across the floor, limp and his arm still bent slightly at an unnatural angle.  
The guard takes a deep breath. Thoughts run through their mind.

_The banquet is tomorrow. Nobody else will want to take guard duty. I can help him then._

It was no longer just an alliance for profit. The guard is young, and has seen so many atrocities already, and is ready to help at least this one soul, a soul willing to give up a sentimental item for help, who so kindly addressed an enemy.

_"I'm sorry about your family."_

The apology had rung loud enough that most of the hall had heard the young man's desperation, his earnest empathy.  
The guard had seen one or two others shake their heads in disapproval of the cruelty; their kind value combat prowess, but some take that as valuing violence and not honor or chivalry. Sportsmanship, honor and mercy had once been held in as high of a regard as brute strength, the guard knew, but few brutes now followed those ways.

But there is no victory in brutalizing someone who had never fought them, never been able to fight back. There is no honor in abusing a prisoner who never blemished his name in any way other than being born into magehood.

And most importantly...

The door opens a tiny bit, allowing the piglin to poke their head inside and look at how the human had stacked up the bodies, as though preparing them for funeral rites, and then at the human himself.

_There is no virtue of any kind in cruelly torturing a person who has already been made a victim. There was never anything to gain from hurting this young man._

It was this moment, heart aching as the door is closed and locked again, that the guard decides.

Getting Bad out of the fortress on their own might be impossible, but helping him is not, and nor is contacting someone who might be able to help free him...someone that the guard still owed a debt to, admittedly, but was sure of the honorable nature of.  
  
Someone of rare caliber and nature in this hellish realm.  
Eyes closed, the guard envisions _him._

Blue eyes, the likes of which were uncommon in this world. Hair not quite the color of hay, a soft platinum color almost.

Wings that swept out from his back, a finger pressed to his lips almost mischievously.

 _"You'll be okay then?"  
_ His voice rings clear in their memory.

A mage in the Nether, as a high ranked military officer. Practically unheard of, even if he had been banished.

Pale eyes snapping open, decisively, the guard leans against the wall, mind made up.

_I need to contact Philza somehow._

* * *

Bad can smell the room around him before he sees it. He doesn't move, trying not to even breath too hard as his body slowly 'turns on' and the pain hits him like a brick wall being dropped on him.  
He would've cried out, but his voice is silenced before he can even open his mouth- after a few tries, Bad confirms with heavy heart that he's lost his voice from screaming.

He wishes it could go back to just the isolation, just the silence. Anything is better than _this._

He reluctantly drags himself upright, and begins to fumble for the dagger he had been given, cutting his already torn shirt into strips, using them, and, with a grimace of horrific irony and pain, one of the bones from one of the bodies to construct a rudimentary splint for his arm. At the same time, his whole body is crying out in pain from the burns, an itching overtaking his skin where the burns weren't, an itching accompanied by dull aching where his bruises were. His mind is dizzy and running wild, but for the moment he focuses intently on his broken arm.

He pulls knots in the fabric tight, binding his arm firmly in place against the bone.

_I'm so sorry to the owner of this bone, I'm sorry I had to take it. I couldn't think of any other way to splint it._

  
He fervently hopes the spirit can forgive him for this.  
His throat and mouth are gummy, and as he rubs his eyes, he realizes he's slightly sticky. He can't tell from what or why, but he hates the sensation, and begins to wipe it off with a scrap of the fabric.  
  
Digging out his precious little water, he takes a tiny sip, still half delirious from the pain.  
  
 _How long was I unconscious? What did they do while I was out?_

The eyes fade in as he looks up, their familiar green depths now reassuring as he smiles up at the hallucination. It moves a little closer, and he thinks for a second that maybe it's more than eyes-  
And then the door opens and the eyes are gone in the light.

He goes perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. Not even daring to blink, just staring up at the door in more terror than before, if that's possible.

The amount of relief he feels when he recognizes the face as the friendly guard is so immeasurable, he wonders if he can faint from it. Pulling back out, the guard glances from side to side, and then jumps down the foot or so into the cell, trotting over to him and kneeling next to him, pale eyes scanning his body.

He feels ashamed, and tries to hide himself a bit, only for the piglin to shake their head.

  
"You are hurt," it says in a soft voice, quieter than Bad expected, and with a less gravelly but distinctly thicker accent than the brutes. "Let me see. Do not worry."  
In the moment, the most astonishing thing isn't his ally coming to help him, or their speaking-

It's that his ally is a _girl._

Her voice betrays her- soft, higher pitched and with a definite feminine inflection. It's the only thing aside from her size, perhaps, that seems to differentiate her from male piglins.

And he feels a little more embarrassed to think he called he called her 'mister piglin' initially. She notices his stunned expression and how his gaze is instinctively searching her form incredulously for anything to betray her sex, and lets out a gruff laugh,

"Yes, I am female. Your kind do not usually have sow warriors, do they? Is that the shock?"

Bad nods sheepishly, and she tucks his hair back, glancing up towards the door.

"I cannot get you out right now," she says urgently, "But I am going to. They are doing the same things to you that your kind did to my siblings when they were taken. Nobody should have that happen."

He fumbles to the box, and she watches, perplexed, and then he shakes his head, remembering he shredded the letter, sighing. He points to his throat, and pantomimes that he can't talk. She nods and he just gazes at her with a confused look.  
  
 _Why would you help me if your siblings were taken and tortured? Why help me if you run the risk of being hurt? And when did you learn English? You couldn't talk before._

Noticing his confused look, she softens a bit more, clearly sympathetic.

"I am Assu," she tells him gently, "I will help. Your name?"

He flaps his hand anxiously, and she hands him a stub of charcoal and a piece of leather.

"Write. The gathering is now, not many are guarding."

He hesitates, wondering if he should give her his Name or his name.  
And with a sigh, he decides it can't get worse.

 _"Darryl," _he writes, _"But my chosen name is Bad. Please be careful when you use Darryl, miss Assu (?)"_

She nods at his spelling, and tests it out, slowly working out the syllables,

"Dah-rill. Day-rul? Dah-rull?" He nods at the right one, and she repeats it, "Darryl. But you want to be called Bad?" He nods again, and smudges out his names. She stands up, and tells him,

"I am going to get burn medicine and water for you. Acting before you are killed, we can get you to nearby shelter. We may hide and recover."

He points to her, and mimes his throat being slit with a questioning look and concern.

"They will not kill me. I will exile myself. I have no need to cast my fate with those who will do this," she points to Bad's arm, to his burns, "You will not suffer the fate of my brother, Darryl."

  
Her odd mixture of words is strangely solemn, as though she learned the English just to tell him this. After a second longer, she climbs out of the cell, shutting the door, and slips off to get the water and burn salve. It was seldom used, since their kind was more resistant to fire and lava, but she knew where it was kept.

Bad stretches out, keeping his burns from being drawn tense where they'd hurt more. The worst part isn't the pain- it's the prickling itching everywhere else, like ants are under his skin, biting at him and tugging at the inner walls of his flesh. It's a bit painful, but in an exquisitely unpleasant way that makes him want to squirm and tear at his skin, though that will only make it worse.

It takes a while for Assu to return, sliding into his cell with a flask and a small container, and what looks to be a loaf of bread. She kneels with him for several minutes, splinting his arm properly, applying the salve, and telling him about the plan as he writes out questions.

_"How long have I been unconscious?"_

"Two cycles." A day and a night, Bad thinks that means.

_"How are we going to get out?"_

"I have a friend, who may be able to help. If that will not work, then I run, with you. Danger, though."

_"How much English do you know?"_

"More than I speak. I understand a lot, do not speak it well."

After a while his questions are exhausted, and she leaves him with his bread, water, and burn salve and a simple,

"Stay strong."

It sounds so simple, and he had been telling himself that so much in the past...week? Has it only been a week? Maybe two? He doesn't even know...Such a short period of time to leave him so incredibly hurt, so close to being shattered.

  
Breathing hurts. Moving his arm hurts, moving hurts. A part of him whines softly, that it isn't fair.  
But the knowledge that someone, anyone, is certainly going to help soothes his terror, his panic. He stands half a chance of getting out of this...alive, at least.

And as he closes his eyes, leaning on the wall and eating slowly, the eyes don't appear. The darkness is no longer as terrifying as he once thought it to be- he knows now that there is so much worse than the darkness and the silence.

He let go of his panic, let go of the fear, tucking the remaining bread away into the box, and then succumbs to the biting exhaustion his injuries force upon him.

For a brief second in his blurry vision, he sees a patch of darkness that seems darker than the rest, but then he's gone.

* * *

_Zak, Skeppy, is curled up with a boy and a young man is keeping watch at their fireside, bright mismatched blue and brown eyes blinking occasionally. Bad breathes in the night air deeply, almost drunk on the scent of the grass and the clean air._

_He kneels next to Skeppy, and cups his cheek softly, leaning down to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek, whispering,_

_"It's going to be okay, I'm going to be okay. Things will get better, Zak. I love you."_

_He would've liked to stay there but-  
_ _The ground vanishes from beneath his feet, and he's sent spiraling into a new place, something sidling behind him and whispering,_

_"I'm here. Always ready to be of service."_

_He shivers as they place their fingers under his chin, pulling him closer as they murmur in his ear,_

_"You must call upon me when you need me. Let me in. Let me help, Darryl."_

_  
__And with that vaguely threatening, worrisome order, Bad's dreams fade into nothingness..._

* * *

And as they do, Skeppy jerks awake, unaware that George does the same thing at the same moment in an entirely different world, both of them with Bad's Name on their tongues and a shiver down their spines, as though something is universally wrong but neither of them can place it.


	22. Chapter 22

Skeppy draws in sharp breaths, shuddering. He hadn't been dreaming, he was just sleeping- but as he surveys the terrain around him, he feels like he had just had a nightmare, only to forget it. A smooth, oily voice lingers just outside of his memory, and he shakes his head, whipping his hair back and forth.

Whatever it was, it wasn't worth panicking over. He glances at Tubbo, who's still wearing his sweater, curled into a little crescent shape between the two balls of fur that are Ant and Fundy.

Ant fit into their group oddly well, and despite his eccentric personality, he's logical as well, helping them chart the path, and at the same time enthusing about different forms of navigation, citing stars, horizons, and landmarks as forms of such.  
Skeppy's initial wariness of the shifter died down to a low smolder, and he grew amiable over the day of travelling. Ant really seems earnest and eager to get along, to the point of talking about almost anything he's asked about.

He probably divulged information he wasn't supposed to in his eagerness, his jittery chattering a soft background noise for Skeppy as they had walked.  
  
The cat stirs, as though he could tell he was being thought of.  
He reaches over to rouse Tubbo, ruffling his hair gently.

"Tubbo," he calls quietly, "it's morning, Tubbo."

The boy groans, rolling over a little bit, prompting angry sounds from both Ant and Fundy.  
The two animals scatter to avoid being crushed, and Tubbo sits up, rubbing his eyes as usual before asking,

"It's still pitch black, Skeppy, are you sure it's morning?"

Skeppy sheepishly says,

"Yeah, five in the morning. I woke up and figured it wouldn't kill us to get a jump on the day. It'll start getting light soon."

This prompts a groan from Tubbo, but he obligingly begins to roll up his bedroll and help gather up their belongings from the campsite.

"We might get to the city today," he muses, "I hope Tommy is okay after that horrible bite that got taken out of him. He looked like death..."

Skeppy nods in agreement.

"It could get pretty badly infected if they don't get there quickly," he murmurs, and Ant transforms to ask sleepily,

"Talking about the poor kid who got his arm bitten? Yeah that looked terrible. He's going to need help quick."

Skeppy gestures for Ant to stand up and get ready to start going. In a few minutes they're on the road again, mist clinging to their skin and clouding their vision.

  
Ant grouches slightly as they walk along, their boots steadily getting damp from the grass.

"It's so wet out this time of the year," he mumbles, "The humidity is the WORST for my fur and it sucks as a human too."

Skeppy nods, agreeing with the shifter.

"And rainstorms!" Tubbo pipes, "It really stings my skin." Ant gives him a slight look, raising a brow.

"Rain hurts? It's unpleasant but that sounds like hail, dude."

Tubbo's expression freezes, and he hastily covers up,

"Raindrops at like, really high speeds kinda sting a little bit! I didn't mean they hurt, hurt, more like just make things a lil' numb or whatnot!"

Ant seems to take the explanation, nodding, and Skeppy let out a soft breath he wasn't fully aware he'd started holding.

  
Tubbo being from the Nether isn't necessarily a nail in the coffin or anything. Plenty of people are from the Nether and lead perfectly normal lives in peace with Overworld residents.

It's that he could possibly be wanted, hunted. Keeping his Nether origins on the down-low seems to be a wise decision for the time, at least until they figure out if Tubbo and Tommy are simply being hunted or if they also have a bounty of any kind.  
Tubbo explained that it's possible that they were wanted for knowing too much about Techno's weaknesses, that he could possibly want to have any possible threats eliminated.

He snaps out of his thoughts when Fundy winds between his ankles, nearly tripping him.  
It makes him chuckle nervously, leaning down to pat the fox before continuing.

He's too in his own head, he realizes, turning his attention outwards, to their surroundings.

The dimly lit fields around them are heavy with morning dew, and the air is surprisingly cold for a summer morning.  
He draws in a deep breath, hearing a bird call distantly as they start to wake up, trills and chirps filling the air.

Soon the chattering of squirrels joins them, and he narrows his eyes at a small grove of trees.

"Hey," he exclaims, pointing, "Those are cherry trees! See? I think there might be some apples too."

Tubbo's excitement seems to skyrocket, and he hops excitedly before almost shouting,

"REALLY?!" Ant flinches, and Tubbo slaps a hand over his own mouth, mortified, and then adds, quieter, "It's been FOREVER since I had fruit! I don't even know if I've had cherries, I've had apples though!"

Skeppy laughs softly, and they turn off their course to stop at the grove.  
He rolls one of the cherries between his fingers, and murmurs,

"Seems ripe. They look like wild cherries too, so with any luck this isn't someone's little orchard. Okay, let's gather some- but not TOO many, alright? Just enough that we can all have some."

  
Tubbo and Ant nod, and the two of them take out containers from Tubbo's bag (these had contained food taken from the caravan, previously) and began to carefully pick and choose cherries and apples, for some of the trees were indeed apple trees laden with fruits. The branches of the trees swing back and forth slightly, a single fruit dropping somewhere.

The dizzying scent of the fruit trees, an almost cloying sweetness heavy in the air around them, seems alien to Tubbo in particular, and he sneezes several times throughout the harvesting.

On the other hand, Skeppy finds the heady scent unfamiliar in a different way; there had been orchards in his home, but the scent seems sharper and more pronounced the longer they linger here. Ant remarks on it too, eventually.

"Doesn't it smell a little odd to you?" He inquires, and Skeppy nods, while Tubbo sneezes. "Almost like- bitter under the sweetness?"

As he says it, Skeppy realizes abruptly that it's _precisely_ as described- there was a hint of a rancid odor under the mask of the fruit trees.

"Yeah," he agrees, and then adds in a mutter, "I don't like it. Be on guard."

Tubbo shrugs,

"It's probably just rotting fruit or animal scat!"

They're on edge now though, and eventually, they've gathered enough fruits to be satisfied with the bounty.

Another fruit falls from a tree, and Skeppy looks over his shoulder nervously, to catch a glimpse of something dark moving through the trees.

"Guys, there's something there," he murmurs, and as he does, a tree near them begins to sway slightly.

And something occurs to him.

"...it's been here the whole time," he adds, "there was no wind for the branches to be moving in."

  
Tubbo glances back and Ant searches the area nervously, but the answer to the question is provided quickly.

A large bird lands on a lower branch near them. Skeppy sizes it up quickly; it's a bit larger than a peacock, and has similarly long feathers, except it can fly, evidently. It blinks lavender eyes at him coyly, ruffling red and black feathers.  
It coos softly, and Skeppy slowly begins to sidle past it, aware of it staring him down.

  
His foot hits something in the grass, and he glances down instinctively.  
Ant looked before he did, and the shrill shriek from him overpowers Skeppy's own gasp.

As though being slowly consumed by the stems around it, a body of...something fairly large, lays tangled and pressed into the grass at his foot.  
He realizes with relief that it isn't human- and then with dread that it's one of the zombies, its body torn and restrained by the plants.

He looks back up at the bird, which coos placidly. Tubbo whispers softly,

"Should- should we just book it?"

The bird's gaze drifts to him, and Ant nods.

"I don't like it," he murmurs, "look at how it's eyeing Skeppy."

 _With a predatory gleam,_ Skeppy notes, and watches as it spreads a wing, preening oily feathers as though they aren't there.

"Let's back away slowly," he murmurs, and they begin to do so, cautiously. He draws his sword as well, nervous.

  
His concern is warranted, since after it finishes preening its feathers, the bird let out an irritated trill and launched itself into the air, its train of feathers dragging behind it.  
It looks a bit like a vulture once it isn't sitting neatly on the branch, and the revelation of how sharp its talons are is _very_ unwelcome to Skeppy.

"Run," he tells Ant and Tubbo tersely, "I'll hold it off if it attacks."

His statement comes too soon; the bird swoops over, almost hitting him in the head.  
  
With a shout, he decides that it's better to just run, and the three of them make a mad dash down the hillside, the bird following for a good ways.

"Skeppy," Tubbo gasps, "Look out!"

  
He feels a weight on his back, and he's pushed to the ground under his own weight and the bird's, feeling its talons dig into his neck and shoulder as he struggles to get free.  
It does manage to scratch him a few times before Ant blasted it with a spell, sending it fleeing into the air with an angry caw.

Skeppy struggles up to his feet, gritting his teeth, and spits out quickly,

"We need to keep going. These aren't that bad, they just sting like a bitch."

  
Ant is flipping through a small book, scouring the pages for any entry matching the bird; he turns up empty except,

"It looked a little like a common roc, but a lot smaller and black...it was too big to be a raven or a crow or even a peacock that somehow could fly...it's weird. Let's keep moving."

Skeppy pulls a bloody hand off his shoulder, digging through the pouch- _Bad's pouch_ -for bandages and gauze to stem the bleeding.  
Tubbo eyes the claw marks uneasily.

"Those came awful close to your jugular. I think it was really trying to kill you, Skeppy..."

He laughs.

"No shit," he inhales sharply as he settles down, "one of you mind helping me?"

  
Tubbo kneels down to examine the wounds, and he winces.

"They- they aren't too deep, I don't think. We can probably just swab them a bit n' it'll be grand."

He lightly pressed his fingers to the skin near the lacerations, and Skeppy flinches.  
Tubbo sympathetically makes a little click with his tongue as he examines them.  
 _It must have dug its claws in and they got wrenched along when he struggled. They're like...for slicing flesh, and for holding prey down._

"That stings-" Skeppy bites out, and swings around his bag to dig into it, "-we should clean it out. I have some disinfectant cream or whatever it's called, we can put it on-"

Tubbo nods, and he rummages until he gets his hands on his water container,

"Skeppy, uh- take off your shirt, we need to get it clean-"

Skeppy tugs at it, groaning as he fully realizes the creature had slashed through the fabric of his shirt.

"This is so stupid," he grumbles, "At least we got fruit."

Ant steps over, cautiously examining the cuts as Skeppy tugs off his shirt and sets it down.

Tubbo quickly gets to the injury with a cloth, and mops up the blood before it can drip down Skeppy's back.

"You're bleeding an awful lot," he remarks nervously, "are you _sure_ this will be okay?...should we stitch it up?"

Skeppy shrugs.

"It's just scratches. It could be worse." As his back is revealed, it becomes obvious he knows about 'worse'. Pale scars that stand out rather starkly against his skin pepper his back, the most eye-catching of them all being a long, jagged scar that wraps from under his left arm, high on his side, down to the middle of his back.

Tubbo swallows as his eyes are drawn along it in astonishment.  
 _That's pretty wide...something really cut him up badly!_

  
"A human did it," Skeppy bluntly tells him, feeling the boy's eyes practically burning holes through his back, "with a dagger. That big scar."

Tubbo sputters, and then Ant comments,

"It's pretty horrible."

"...yeah. I would've died if not for Bad." His words had been curt till now, but he softens talking about the other. Tubbo finishes cleaning up the injuries, and Skeppy hands him the gauze, cream, and bandages.

"I'll help!" Ant offers, seeing Tubbo's confusion. Skeppy can feel his gentle hands lightly applying the cream to the slashes, and he winces here and there. They press down the gauze and wrap the bandages firmly over it, working together. Eventually it's all done, and they give Skeppy the go-ahead to put his shirt back on and he does so, sighing in dismay at the slashes in it.

"I have few enough shirts," he grouches, "it really had to go tearing at it, huh? Guess I'll have to get a new one in the city..."

Tubbo can't help a nervous laugh at his dismay, and Skeppy cuffs him gently.

"Aye!" Tubbo protests, "What was that for?!"

"For laughing at my woes," Skeppy's retort comes, playfully gruff as he stands up, readjusting his bag and sighing, "Thanks guys. Let's keep going, alright?"

Ant nods in agreement, and Tubbo tucks his water back into his bag. He glances behind them nervously for a second, feeling like the bird might be back, but there's nothing there.  
They pick up the containers of fruit, Skeppy with a painful wince as the injuries shift and tug. But soon they're moving again, left to nervously ponder if there are any more of those birds in the area.

* * *

By dusk, they've reached the bottom of the hill, and Skeppy sighs, seeing the city in the not-so-distance.

"...should we just keep going? It might be fully night when we reach the walls and they close the gates at nightfall," Skeppy muses. Tubbo shrugs.

"Should we bother getting closer? Is it safer?"

"Not really- in fact thieves and monsters like to target travelers outside the walls at night. We'd be far better off just setting up here and arriving in the morning!"

  
Skeppy nods in agreement as Ant speaks, and with that, they start to settle down, not lighting a fire so as to avoid attracting unnecessary attention.

The apples and cherries they'd harvested are sweet, though the apples have a hint of tartness to complement it.  
There's enough for them each to have a fairly good meal of fruit, with Tubbo eating a bit more than his share in his eagerness.

Skeppy laughs though, watching the eager teen gobble up the fruit with a look of wonder. He then lays down, leaving Ant to take his watch as Tubbo nestles against him, yawning.

"Tubbo," he says softly, "you've got cherry juice all over your mouth."

Tubbo sticks out his tongue, laughing softly as he closes his eyes.

"Fine with me..."

Tubbo soon drifts off, and Skeppy winces as he lays there, trying to avoid pressing his shoulder to anything. In the not-so-distance, he can see a small fire spring to life.

  
He watches Ant for a few minutes before his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes. Tomorrow, they'll arrive at the city.  
One step closer. One day closer.

Something in him burns desperately, aching, pulling him onward.

_Is that love? Or compulsion?_

  
He decides not to question it, sighing softly and drifting off.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for how many times the POV shifts in this chapter

Sapnap hauls Tommy up, the blond wincing. His arm is tense and slightly swollen under their hasty bandages, and Tommy is more worried that Tubbo didn't contact him that night.

"He just forgot, or was distracted," Sapnap protests, and Tommy shakes his head blearily, exhausted.

"He promised, that no matter what he'd check in, it just feels wrong," he says anxiously, "I know he 'as Skeppy and that weird fuckin cat, but still...I'm worried something happened to him."

"Scry him then," Sapnap suggests, "that's what that ball does, it's a scrying orb."

Tommy looks at it with clear worry, and nods,

"...you're right, that it does."

Focusing, a flicker of Tubbo carrying a container of fruits passes across the orb, and Tommy releases his breath.

"...Alright, so he is jus' busy. Good to know, I suppose."

They stumble down the hill, towards the path again; Sapnap only really left it in search of wood and more food, but they had gotten more and more sidetracked, it seemed.  
They can see the city in the distance, but the dusk is setting in and they know that they won't make it to the city walls in time to be let in.

Sapnap bites his lip, and begins to build a fire, uncomfortable being so in the open. He watches as the flames lick up, springing to life joyfully.

"Tomorrow, Tommy," he promises, "we'll get you help tomorrow."

Tommy scoffs, rubbing his forehead,

"I'm perfectly dandy, Sapnap. I haven't an idea what you mean. You're saying it like I'm on my deathbed already, you morbid old man."

He gets a weak cuff on the shoulder from Sapnap before the raven-haired man mutters,

"Sleep. I'll keep watch."

He watches as Tommy drifts off, surveying the area around them.  
Nothing stirs, he's pretty sure- except maybe a small movement downwind of them, a bit closer to the city.

* * *

It had started that afternoon- George had gone down on his knees, whimpers and cries of distress and pain overwhelming his words when he tried to explain what was happening.  
Clay knew the venom wasn't fully gone from his system, but he had only realized then that George must have collected so much that the process of finally purging all traces of it must be...

He had flinched to imagine it.

Now, a whine escapes George, and he tightens his hold on the sheets, struggling slightly.  
Clay rubs his back gently, reassuring him in a quiet tone,

"George, it's going to be okay. The venom is just hitting the second wave, that's all. It'll be out of your system after this. You'll be fine."

George rolls over, nearly elbowing Clay as he did so, wrapping his arms around the blond's waist and resting his chin miserably on Clay's lap.

"It hurts like fucking bitch," he inhales sharply, "I can- I feel every injury again, it's like they- they're open again? Are they open? Clay?? Clay am I bleeding?"

He hides his face against Clay's stomach, pressing against the other's soft tunic as the prince runs his fingers through George's hair gently.

"You're not bleeding," he reassures the brunet, "you're just fine. Let's lay back down, we can go to sleep. Does that sound good Georgie? You want to go to sleep?"

His tone becomes softer, more parental in nature, like a father trying to get his children to settle down. The steadiness of it calms George slightly, and though the pain in his body doesn't subside, he nods weakly against the other man, who slowly slides back, and takes George down, laying him against the pillows and tucking him in.

  
"Don't go," George pipes up, and his upset, needy, tone alone would have put any plans Clay had had on hold, if he hadn't been dedicating most of his day to his lovely newfound soulmate.  
Not that he neglected his duties- he managed most of them during the time George slept or read.  
His expression softens, and he looks at George's beseeching face, the pleading hint in his brown eyes.

How could he say no?  
Clay slides under the covers with George, and the other quickly wraps his arms around him, waiting until Clay returned the embrace to lay his head against the prince's chest.

"Don't go, okay?" George repeats in a murmur, and Clay pulls him a little closer.

"I won't George, I won't go anywhere. I'll be right here until you're better, I swear."

And he means it, every word. He watches his companion drift into a light, painful daze, trying to sleep but often jerking awake.

_  
I'd do anything for him, I think. How is he so...he's just so perfect?...  
_ He knows it's the soulmate idealism.

But he wants to believe George really is perfect, and...so far, George has been. Everything about him just makes him...lovable. Even the annoying things.  
Clay smiles once George finally drifts off for good.

_Yeah...lovable._

* * *

The dawn brings a chilly breeze brushing over Skeppy's neck, and he jerks upright from his slumped, half-asleep guard position, searching the area in jittery wakefulness.

That wasn't the only thing that woke him up, but he's far from knowing what did. Just that somehow, a wrenching sensation in his gut had sent him spiraling into alertness.  
He looks to the lightening sky, squinting at the gates of the city before letting out an excited whoop, nudging his companions awake.

"Guys!" He says brightly, "Guys! The gates are opening soon, we can get going!"

Tubbo rolls over, nearly squashing Fundy (who shoots off with a bark of indignation) and Ant, previously nestled against Fundy in cat form, stretches, his mouth opening wide in a yawn, his tail puffing up as he does so. He transforms, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh really?" The shifter murmurs distantly, and Tubbo yawns as well, arching his back slightly. "We should-" he yawns again, "-get going...then..."

Skeppy begins packing up their campsite, already filled with energy and oddly hyper.  
 _Oddly hyper? No, this is how I usually am,_ he realizes; how he usually behaved around friends, around Bad, and George. He's more energetic than he had been the whole past week, the promise of getting closer to saving Bad casting away the cloud of depression that had settled in during the brunet's absence.

He swings his bag onto his back, and waits for the others to stand up. They're on their way soon, Skeppy excitedly chattering, almost too awake for this hour.

"Did you sleep really good or somethin'?" Tubbo asks playfully, elbowing him. Skeppy laughs, and he retorts with a grin,

"No! I actually think I had nightmares, because I woke up really fast and all suddenly. But I guess I'm just excited that we're getting closer to everything- Bad, Sapnap, Tommy, and with any luck, Red."

The last is tacked on as he remembers Ant's own quest, and it earns him a meekly appreciative smile from the young man.  
He may have only joined up for a little while, but he's approachable, and Skeppy would be lying to say he didn't think he'd miss him a bit and wonder how his journey went once they parted ways.

They come to a stop a few feet from the gates, looking up; Skeppy with vigor and a wide grin, Tubbo with a faint sense of awe, and Ant with nervous eagerness.

They're here.

* * *

Sapnap stirs, nearly rolling onto the ashes of their fire. Tommy let out a whimper as he's pushed, and that snaps the raven-haired man out of his daze. He sits up, examining the boy's arm with a nauseous feeling in his stomach.

It's clearly infected already, and even though Tommy seems to have been holding up well, Sapnap knows that it could take a terrible toll on him soon.  
He rouses the boy, and begins packing up their bedrolls before helping Tommy up.

The blond murmurs softly,

"I'm fuckin- dizzy and shit. Head feels fuzzy and hot? Hey, do I have a fever or something? Nick?"

Sapnap shushes him, frantically.

"You do, your infection is starting to get bad," he explains, leading him down the road towards the gates, "Don't use my name please, okay? We'll get you help soon. It's all gonna be good."

As they stumble their way down the road, Sapnap narrows his eyes at a trio of figures waiting at the gates.

"Skeppy?"

The voice penetrates Skeppy's hazy optimism, and the hunter turns, his smile dropping a little bit as he sees the pair.

Tubbo whirls so fast he nearly trips on the spot, and breaks into a jog as he rushes to Tommy's side, hugging his friend with relief and concern.

"Tommy!" He exclaims, and Tommy laughs softly.

"Tubbo! My bro, my brother," he replies, a little deliriously, slinging his good arm over Tubbo's shoulder as the brunet looks over to Sapnap,

"How is the bite?" Sapnap winces.

"Worsening. He's a bit feverish and a little ditzy I guess, but he should be okay with some medical attention."

  
Tense, awkward silence wraps around the young men, Ant stepping back a little to examine the wall for when the guards started to open the gates.  
Skeppy scuffs his boot against the ground a bit, looking at Sapnap's shoes as the other twirls his headband in his fingers.

They speak at the same time.

"Hey so I'm sorry-"

"I should probably apologize-"

Skeppy falls silent, gesturing for Sapnap to speak first, and he does so, awkwardly clearing his throat.

"...I should probably apologize," he repeats, "I totally went off on you and it was really over the top. Like I could go and justify it with 'oh I was angry, I was blinded by my own vendetta' but it's not like that changes the fact that I kinda fucked up. Especially since splitting from you got Tommy hurt and..."

He trails off as Skeppy steps closer, and punches him in the arm- not too hard, but harder than friendly, and bluntly says,

"Yeah, more about that later. But right now..."

Sapnap shrinks a little internally, anticipating the other to start tearing down his rather flimsy apology.

"...I forgive you. You really were blinded, and I guess you sorted through it while you were gone."

  
Skeppy smiles at him, and then begins to laugh at Sapnap's confused look.

"What, did you think I was gonna rag on your ass till you swore servitude or something?"

"A bit," Sapnap admits sheepishly, relaxing at his friend's expression. "I just- I was really awful. I know my emotions are volatile and all but that's not an excuse for being a shithead."

Skeppy hugs him.  
Sapnap's body goes tense again, and Skeppy says quietly,

"Yeah yeah, you're a pissbaby, I get it."

He pulls back, and Sapnap begins to laugh as well, confused but amused in a mildly offended way.

"What??" He gasps, and Skeppy grins, messing up the other's hair playfully.

"Come on bitch boy, we've got a kid to get medical attention, a healer to rescue, and a revolution plan to reevaluate."

Sapnap groans, and punches the other,

"Not the hair! Also...reevaluate? Not just trash?" Skeppy shakes his head.

"Look, I'm all for toppling foreign monarchies, but if you can avoid slaughtering my friend's soulmate it would be pretty great of you."

  
Something about that makes a small smile spread across Sapnap's face.

"...soooooo...I can still revolt against him and kick him out of his rulership?" He asks, and Skeppy nods, about to speak when Ant shouts,

"They're opening now! The gates!" The group turns to face the gates as they grind open slowly.  
And they take their first steps into the city of Gotopia. Tubbo's still holding Tommy's good hand, refusing to be even remotely separated from his friend now that they've been reunited.

Skeppy himself is a little awed, running his eyes over the vibrant collection of awnings and window ledge planters filled with flowers. Some of the windows are filled with bright tapestries or lights and wares.  
Motley signs pepper the streets, hanging overhead or on walls and corner streetlights, the werelights dimming in the daylight.

Sapnap surveys the signs with purpose, eventually tapping a passerby on the shoulder to ask,

"S'cuse me sir," the burly man raises a brow, "are there any healers or doctors in town that you'd recommend?"

His question is shrugged off slightly, and the man nods towards a sign decorated with swirls and bright colors.

"He's a mage but damned if he can't heal," he says gruffly, heading on his way as the group looks to the sign.

_  
"KJ's HelpnHeal,"_ Skeppy reads out as they approach it, and Sapnap stares at the handwriting for a second, the playful coloring. It feels familiar, in a distant-childhood-memory sort of way.

"Well, if it's a mage and recommended," Tubbo pipes nervously, "Surely we should check 'im out, yeah?"

Sapnap claps suddenly, turning with a new light in his gaze,

"That's right!" His sudden outburst makes Ant, who was still running his gaze over the streets for anything that might lead him to Red, jump. "Skeppy, I think that Bad is a mage. I'm pretty sure, actually. So he might be able to heal himself but he's sure to get in trouble if he does."

Tubbo winces.

"...the Nether doesn't like mages," he adds in an undertone. "Really, really doesn't like mages."

Skeppy flinches, knowing that all too well already. He doesn't say anything, just nodding, and starts to follow the direction of the sign, to a newish looking shop. The paint on the building is new, bright and colorful, and it stands out against its more muted neighbors.  
The windows, he notes faintly, are curtained, but the sign at the door proclaims it as "Open!".  
  
He pauses, and asks,

"Should you or me take him in?"

Sapnap surveys the area for a moment, and decides.

"You're better at people," he states, "I'll help uh, your friend. He seems to be looking for something, right?"

Ant nods,

"Looking for a house that matches my dreams. I'm sure Red is there, and once we find each other we can get ourselves set up to tell our families that we're okay and to do our usual work."

Skeppy ushers Tommy, and by extension Tubbo, up the steps as he opens the door,

"Meet us back in the square in an hour, okay?" He directed his words at Sapnap as the other began to walk away with the shifter.

  
The trio enters the healer's shop, a tinkling bell alerting its owner of customers.  
A young man with fluffy light brown hair leans over the counter, an apron covered in faint color splotches tied around his waist as he watches them enter, greeting them brightly,

"Hello! I'm KJ, welcome to my shop. How can I help you?"

Skeppy leads Tommy over to the counter, allowing the healer to take a look at his arm.

"He was bit by a wolf," he explains, and KJ sucks in a breath. "Aside from that, I got scratched up by a bird on my shoulder. What are your prices?"

The healer points to a chart next to the door.  
Skeppy examines it, surprised by how low the prices seem, especially for a mage healer who can, if he's anything like Bad, fix even severe wounds with relative ease.

He doesn't question though, hoping that this won't eat a hole through his wallet even with the lower than average prices.

"This way," KJ says, leading them (mostly Tommy and Skeppy, but Tubbo follows anxiously) into a sunny room outfitted with a bench, cabinets of bottles and packages ringing the walls.

He sits Tommy down and begins to unwrap the bandages, looking concerned the more he sees the injuries, the skin around them white except for an angry red and purple ring around the punctures.  
Skeppy notes the purple, confused, but KJ seems to know what it means, scanning over the wounds, blueish-grey eyes filled concern.  
 _Blue grey_? Skeppy thinks back to their greeting, realizing that his eyes first appeared to be a faintly amber-like shade of brown.  
 _That's not right but...well...who am I to question? He's a mage, after all.  
  
_ Tommy winces a few times as the healer wipes out the wounds, cleaning them properly before quickly searching through the cabinets to retrieve a few bottles, filled with various liquids and a tube of some kind of paste.  
By now, Tommy's bite is beginning to bleed again, but that's not that concerning to KJ, He begins to swab it gently, and murmurs distantly,

"You, in the blue." Skeppy starts, about to respond, before realizing it was directed at Tubbo. The teen is still wearing Skeppy's sweater. After a similar moment of realization, Tubbo nods.

"Y- yes?" He replies nervously, and KJ looks up for a moment.

"You aren't human, are you? This is your brother or something right? Can you tell me what you guys are so I don't poison him by accident?"

Tubbo jitters, and looks to Skeppy, askance. The hunter nods.

"He needs help, just be honest," he murmurs, and Tubbo reluctantly says,

"Nether...um, Nether people? There's no specific thing I can really point out for you."

KJ nods, and places a bottle back on the shelf, taking a different one out.

"It's just," he explains, continuing to disinfect and clean the wounds, "he's got uh, different...spirit, aura?... than humans. Don't worry, nobody but a mage will really be able to tell, since I only picked up when I was probing it."

Tommy whines slightly as the healer continues.

"It's _stingin_ ," he grumbles, watching as KJ draws a dim glow to his fingertips, running his hand over the skin around the punctures. "An' it's itching too."

"That's good," KJ says, and Skeppy watches in uneasy wonder as the redness and swelling receded a bit from the magical influence. "It means things are getting repaired. This is going to take a while, though, I need to draw out the rest of the infection..."

  
He gestures back out to the main room,

"You two can sit down if you'd like. There's chairs. If anyone comes in, tell them to sit down and wait unless it's urgent."

Skeppy tugs a reluctant Tubbo into the room, and once they've sat down, Fundy sidles over from the front door, and hops onto his lap. _Time to wait, I guess._


	24. Chapter 24

Sapnap trails behind Ant, surveying the streets for anyone he recognizes as an agent of Eret's organization. An organization which is surprisingly not completely illegal.  
He listens to the catboy chatter, talking about the situation back home and how he and a few other shifters would come down to do both manual labor in the late summer and fall, as well as shifter specific jobs.

His interest spikes, and he asks,

"Specific? Like what?" Ant glances to the side, as though suddenly realizing he's said too much.

"...uh, sometimes people need a small pair of paws," he laughs it off, "finding things and all? Basically any job that needs a sentient animal who can relay info or carry out orders."  
  
 _Spying, stealing, and assassination, probably.  
_ Sapnap files that information away, and gestures to a building beside them,

"Boarding house. Does that match?" Ant shakes his head, and shifts into his cat form, sniffing around for any trace of Red. He perks up, and hurtles off into the growing crowd, with Sapnap chasing after him.

He skids to a stop, shifting back and waiting for Sapnap. They've come to a stop in front of a blue building labeling itself as a cat café. Sapnap's mouth twists up in a wry grin.  
 _Of course he'd be here. Cat boys._

He watches as the brunet opens the door eagerly, and after a bit of asking for people, another young man emerges from a back room.  
The sight of the pair of shifters embracing each other, warmly reuniting and relieved to have found each other, should've been a sweet one.

But it just brings a bitterness to Sapnap's mouth. His expression is indiscernible, though to him it feels tense, twitchy and like he's clearly holding things in.

He watches a bit as they catch up, wrapped in a haze until Ant turns to him with a smile,

"Hey, Sapnap was it? Thank your friend for me! I would've probably run in circles for weeks if it weren't for him."

Sapnap swallows down the pang of envy that was clawing its way up his throat, and musters up a semi-convincing smile.

"It's no problem babe," he drawls playfully, winking, "You two lovebirds...lovecats?...have fun with whatever you plan to do. I'll give Skeppy your thanks."

He turns, leaving the café. He meanders through the streets back towards the healer's shop, lightheaded and struggling with the guilty sense of envy and jealously that grapples him relentlessly.  
 _He has that boy. Skeppy has Bad. They're young, but Tubbo and Tommy have each other and that's all they seem need, like platonic soulmates. Everyone has theirs. Everyone!_

He hates the jealous anger that fills him, the bitterness on his tongue. It wasn't fair to the others for him to be so angry, so bitter, and so _childish_.  
 _Everyone except me._

  
But he really can't help it.  
Sapnap just can't push away the burning compulsion in his chest, can't push away the ache of longing that so easily morphs into envy when he sees the other pairs of mates, holding hands and kissing and just being...in love.

He wants to be in love. The voice threads through his mind, the gentle yet almost playful reassurance as the person, _his_ person, pulled the spine from his wound, pulling him back from the edge.

His mind is too loud, far too loud.  
He veers down a side alley, looking around for any of the runes or marks that would indicate one of Eret's passages.  
 _Surely he hasn't changed everything up in only two years?_

Sapnap can remember the path he took back then, can remember where Eret came from their last meeting. But there seems to be no traces, and despite his growing unrest that boils in him like a poisonous stew, he begins to make his way to the healer's shop, hoping that they'll be out soon.

A hand brushes his thigh, fumbling towards his pocket, on the way out into the crowd, and without thought his hand darts out with inhuman speed, catching the culprit's wrist.  
A rather alarmed face looks up at him, and he murmurs lowly,

"I'd advise you keep your sticky fingers out of people's pockets. You're no good at it."

The youth gulps, and Sapnap glances around, tugging them into the alley.

"Do you know anything about...hmm...the sewer system?" He inquires, and the kid nods frantically.

"Look mista," they pipe in a nervous, shaky voice that places them as presumably a young male, "if yer lookin for The King, I can show ya the way! Please don't turn me in."

The words are rushed, and clearly only said to get Sapnap to release his bruising grip on their wrist. Sapnap murmurs,

"You mean Eret, don't you?"

The would-be thief nods frantically, and Sapnap loosens his grip.

"I'm not going to turn you in," he clarifies for the sake of the jittery kid, "I just need to find Eret, alright?"

The kid asks reluctantly,

"...so...ya know him? Nobody round these parts calls him Eret..."

  
Sapnap explains with a faint roll of his eyes,

"Yeah. Would I be asking after him if I didn't? Look, have you heard of Sapnap? The dude that Eret was training a while ago?"

A look of recognition crosses the wide eyed expression, and the kid asks,

"...is that a friend of yours?"

"You could say that," Sapnap smirks, "Anyway the gist is I really need to talk to him and can't find the gates. You're totally off the hook and I'll even give you a bit of gold if you can show me the way, alright?"

The pale eyes light up, and he nods excitedly, and tugs Sapnap along.

"This way mista."

  
Though Sapnap can't find a reason to distrust the kid, he keeps his other hand firmly on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw at any moment.  
Not that he can fight with his left hand, but it's not like anyone would know that.

He's led a bit further down the street, to another alley, this one ending in a small fortune telling stand of sorts.

"If ye head down there and ask for the king's reading she'll let you in," the youth instructs, and Sapnap, after digging into his wallet, hands him a gold piece.  
He's sure that the reason the kid is so agreeable with possibly dangerous information is either youth, fear, or confidence that if he turned out to be bad, Eret was able to take him out.  
 _He would be able to._

"Thank you," he releases the kid, who flashes him a bright grin before vanishing into the crowd, gone like a little ghost.

  
With the location fixed in his mind, he steps out of the alley, making his way back to the square and in turn to the healer's with a bounce in his step.  
 _I'll make sure to go first, in case it's a trap, though._

He doubts it will be, but expecting the unlikely is never a bad idea. Especially dealing with someone whose reach mysteriously extended as far as Eret's.

Someone with so much power should never be underestimated.

  
He turns a corner, and settles into a bouncing rhythm as he approaches the healer's shop. Despite his painful envy, Sapnap settles into a brighter mood, anticipating seeing Eret again. The man had helped him get his bearings in the Overworld, without even a slight care for where the straggly black-haired youth on his doorstep had come from.  
He closes his eyes for a second, taking a breath of air filled with mixed scents of various natures; ranging from acrid scents and dung, to the scent of fresh baked bread and laundry drying on the breeze.

It feels so much more alive here in the Overworld. There's so much more of...everything. And he loves it. He'd live here, Sapnap decides, he'd definitely like to live in the Overworld. Some of his peers wouldn't agree; many people raised in the End have an odd phobia of the Overworld, whether it shows as an agoraphobic nature when presented with simulated Overworld environments or just a general terror when regarding the Overworld.

He's never had that problem though. He's always wanted to be more adventurous, more eager to see things, to _know_.  
He had been made fun of it, he remembers with a chuckle. He had been made fun of for reading all those books about the Overworld.

_Well, who's laughing now?_


	25. Chapter 25

Bad takes a deep breath, laying on his back, staring into the eyes once again. He asks softly, in a whisper feather-soft and too quiet for anyone to really hear,

"What do you want from this? What do you want from me? Why do you keep following me like this?"

The eyes blink, and Bad yawns. With Assu's promise that she would get him out one way or another, a dull sense of acceptance has fallen over the healer.

He stretches out a hand towards the roof, towards the eyes. There's no answer from them, of course.  
He feels a weight on his chest, feels exhaustion setting in. His arm hurts so badly, but he can't do anything for it. His so-called magecraft wouldn't heal it yet, despite it having eaten away at the burns on his side until they vanished.

He closes his eyes for a few minutes, licking cracked and dry lips with a tongue that's almost as dry.

The door jitters and he jerks up, eyes open, distantly noticing that the eyes are closer, or, were.  
The hissing, babbling, whispers of the dead begin to wrap him again, and he fights them off with a hiss of,

"No! You can't take me this time!"

He hopes it would be Assu's kindly face he was met with, but no such luck. One of the brutes peers in, and watches as Bad shudders back, pressing to the far wall.

"Yer still kicking, huh?" The brute grunts, and Bad draws his knees to his chest, paralyzed, staring at the brute with eyes so wide that they sting, biting his lip in fear to keep himself silent.

He wants to run farther away from the brute as it looms in the door, farther than he can even imagine. Where he'd run to is irrelevant; he just wants to _flee._

"Ye can come here or ye can be dragged out by your arm, ye choose." Given that choice, enveloped by his terror, Bad feels a warmth down his thighs that he would rather not be feeling.

_Did I…oh...I really just peed myself? That's...oh my goodness. That's humiliating._

His face burns with shame, eyes cast downward to avoid eye contact, but the brute beckons,

"Now or never."

  
He struggles to his feet, hating every second of this. His arm is burning with pain again. He wants to lay back down and feel humiliated and abused on his own, far away from the brute, but he knows his arm can't take being yanked on like it would be if he didn't come.  
So he follows like a lamb to slaughter, the brute taking hold of his good wrist and dragging him along.

"Ye healed yer bloody burns again," he sighs, "so ye ain't broken yet. Disappointing, I'd say. But ye've still been doing the things ye need for that..."

  
Bad's blood runs cold as they enter another dark room, but this time he can see shackles dangling from the ceiling, a chain clearly attached to a winch. It takes him a few more scans of the room to get truly terrified though; the tables around contain everything from buckets, to strange glimmering bottles of liquid, to matches.

"Arms up," he's ordered, and when he struggles to do it himself, the brute yanks them up on his own, shackling them in and adjusting the chain length until Bad is forced to tiptoe up, his weight straining against the restraints.  
He takes careful breaths, trying not to panic, or hyperventilate from the pain of his arm being forced into this position.

"We'll start with this," the brute remarks, calmly lifting a bottle of dark reddish liquid, tipping it to run over Bad's exposed skin.

He had expected something warm, or something chilly-  
 _Not THIS._

It feels like acid, eating at his skin in an exquisitely agonizing way. He whimpers and cries out as he's left in the cell, the guard outside the door looking vaguely interested. They watch as Bad struggles, straining instinctively against his restraints, sobbing as the liquid continues to drip down him.

It takes what feels like forever to finally stop, and by the end, Bad is panting, tears dripping down his face.

He isn't aware that he's speaking, too focused on the patches of skin that had been almost...eaten away, by the liquid, to notice his involuntary soft questions babbling out to fall upon uncaring ears.

"Why? Why are you _doing_ this to me?"

His pathetic cries, barely whispered in his hoarse and broken voice, are met with an amused snort by the guard, who answers in a derisive tone,

"Mages get their magic broken and taken away. Ye all deserve to suffer."

The words are unwelcome, and Bad's exhaustion comes crashing in once the pain finally fades, but he can't. It's impossible to sleep like this, he's sure. He hangs his head, staring at the ground and studying it while taking slow, deep breaths of the hot, ash-filled air he's unfortunately grown accustomed to.

It's almost painful after a while longer, being forced to stand like this.

This time he's awake to feel as a ripple of magic overtakes his skin, soothing the pain. It seems to do a little for his arm too, but not much.  
 _This is how I'm going to be trapped from now on?  
_ He wonders distantly how soon prisoners usually die. They would probably die of dehydration, wouldn't they? He only survived because Assu and George had given him water.

Do mages just need less water? These are the thoughts that circle in his mind as he stands, silently drawing in painful gasps of air. The familiar bright green eyes reappear eventually, and he meets them wearily, almost glad for the consistency.

Hours have to be passing, he's sure. He watches the guards change, he watches them watch him, his struggling, his pain, his listless dangling in the chains.  
It feels like forever, an eternity of gazing at a wall as he leans into the support of the shackles. The crushing exhaustion strangling out his other feelings, emotions and physical sensations alike.

And so, eventually...

He closes his eyes.

* * *

_Zak places his hands on his hips, and draws him onto the checkered floor._

_"Come on," he invites, his voice warm, "let's dance."_

_Darryl looks up in confusion, telling him,_

_"Zak, I can't dance."_

_His friend laughs, and sweeps him into a dance, pressing him close, whispering to him softly,_

_"I can~" Darryl's face grows warm, and he meets the other's warm gaze, leaning a little closer. "You're beautiful."_

_  
_ _The words that fall from his lips into the still air between them is nothing like the playful compliments he said in their day to day interactions.  
_ _No, this is laced with a thread of intent, a thread of desire almost.  
  
_ _Darryl can feel his cheeks going hot, eyes widening._

_"Geppy," he murmurs, "why would you say it like that?"_

_Zak turns them, still leading the dance, and leans into a dip, holding Darryl close._

_"Don't you want to hear that?" He questions, and Darryl bashfully looks away,_

_"I can't lie and say I don't..." He feels his face be turned back to face the other's._

_"Close your eyes, Darryl."_

_He's so close, and-_

* * *

A flood of liquid pours over him, and he jerks out of his dream, out of the faint stupor he had fallen into after all that time of just...hanging there.

He shrieks, since the initial flood of liquid is followed by something dripping over his face and shoulders. He struggles again, finding himself partially unable to breath through what he thinks is cloth, but no-  
He can breathe, but it's wrong, it's so _wrong_ -

It almost feels like he's choking and yet he is still breathing, still drawing in broken gasps of air through the thing painfully pressing into his mouth.

Distantly, through his panicky, half coherent perception of the situation, he catches a glimpse of the substance now being poured over him, and he feels at first that he has to be hallucinating- the substance running over his body, the slimy, prickling substance...was lava.  
He can't make sense of anything, unable to get proper breaths through what he realizes must be a gag of sorts. His shallow, rapid breaths are filled with the not-quite liquid that he chokes up just as quickly, the sludge running down his chin as he tears up, still dizzy from his inability to breathe.

_Potion? Did they use, another potion? There's potions to resist being burned, right?_

The irony of it is almost enough to be funny, that a potion with such potential for good would be used to torture someone in this manner, forcing them to do this, to choke and gasp and gag, just to breathe.

The lava drips down, pooling on the floor. Horrifyingly long minutes pass before Bad can breathe properly, without coughing the lava back out of his mouth or sneezing it up. Everything about this situation makes him want to cry, but he can't do it right now. His eyes hurt.  
The guard laughs,

"I accidentally let ya fall asleep."

_Sleep deprivation. Great._

The thought is bitter. He knows that if Assu was here, she'd let him sleep until she was changing shift at least, but she's not here, nobody is.

There's nobody here for him.  
He can't help this slight bitterness from creeping into his body, with the pain and horror and terror.

The humiliation only builds when the guard takes the gag off, and decides to poke Bad's tongue as it lolls out when he gasps for breath, their finger bitter and something slightly salty on it stinging the sensitive surface.  
He pulls his tongue in, glaring up at the guard, feeling indignation pricking at his eyes even though tears aren't coming. He almost would spit at them, lash out, an odd storm of violence building inside his chest.  
  
 _I hate you. I hate this. I HATE THIS._

He feels beaten, helpless, and yet so angry, so sickened.  
The guard leaves, but the sick, sticky feeling this whole event gave Bad doesn't go with him. Around him, the lava drains away gradually, and he's thankful that the potion at the least kept him from being burned when he inhaled the molten rock. He can't wrap his head around why he didn't drown, or suffocate, but at the same time he doesn't WANT to know.

He stares up at the eyes, the familiar hallucination setting him at ease in the most ironic way.  
His mouth twists in a weak, sardonic smile.

"How pathetic," he murmurs, inaudible to anyone other than himself. He can't tell what he's referring to, but he slumps against the chains, resigning himself to this.

_Come quickly, please.  
Come quickly._

_Things are just getting worse._


	26. Chapter 26

Skeppy jerks up from leaning on his arm, hearing a voice, a familiar voice, very clearly telling him,

_"Things are just getting worse."_

A pain wraps around his chest, and he closes his eyes, suppressing the tears that make a bid for freedom.  
 _Darryl_...

Tubbo places a hand on Skeppy's shoulder, seeing the other's expression.

"Are you alright?" He whispers, and Skeppy nods, shuddering slightly. He can't quite articulate exactly what he just heard, but everything about it sends shivers down his spine.

"I just- I heard his voice," he says weakly, and Tubbo winces, understanding. "I heard it asking for help and I don't- I don't know how he managed to reach out or if I'm hallucinating but he sounded so _broken_ and weak..."

Tubbo nods, gesturing slightly,

"Hey, keep going. You should try to get this out."

With the teen's encouragement, Skeppy takes another deep breath.

"His voice just- in my head but also kinda out loud? He said to come quick, that... _it was only getting worse."_ He takes a breath, closing his eyes and then adding, "I've seen dreams of him- chained up, burned, being branded, being hurt...and all I can do is kneel next to him and tell him it's going to be okay, that I love him, and that I'm coming, and I'm never even sure if he can hear me. It hurts. It hurts really...like, really bad."  
He falters as he explains his feelings, and he buries his face in his hands, thumbing over some of the scars on his cheeks in an attempt to ground himself. Tubbo looks away, not sure how to handle everything he's been told.

"...you'll get there, Skeppy," he tentatively says, "I'm sure of it. We're almost halfway there, after all." Skeppy lifts his head slightly, and Tubbo's bright, hopeful smile pierces the darkness like a beacon.

He hugs him gently, and sighs.

"Thank you Tubbo." He breathes all the gratitude he feels into a simple statement, his voice breaking slightly, "Gods, I hope we find the people you're missing soon. You deserve to be back with your family."

Tubbo laughs awkwardly,

"...well, they are my family! But not biologically. I'm an orphan, see."

Skeppy tilts his head, and pulls back for a second to examine Tubbo once again, a perplexed look on his face.

"Wait, wait. An orphan? You didn't mention that, jeez. You poor kids, I hope you and Tommy got to know your mom at least..."

Tubbo looks baffled, and then lights up, laughing,

" _Our_ mum? Skeppy, Tommy isn't my brother!"

Skeppy's bafflement grows. Distantly, he recalls them being referred to as friends, but also Tommy directly calling Tubbo his brother, albeit during delirium.

"He's not??"

"No!" Tubbo cackles. "We may as well be though!"

Skeppy laughs in awkward confusion, feeling his cheeks warm up. _Oh, this is so stupid. I'm such an idiot.  
_ KJ calls gently,

"Hey, I wasn't gonna interrupt you two? But your friend is, better so to speak. Come take a look and then I'll work on your injury."

Skeppy stands, beaten to Tommy's side by Tubbo hurtling up out of his chair and scrambling over to the blond, leaving a disgruntled Fundy in his empty chair. Skeppy gently scratches behind the fox's ear, earning himself a yip of gratitude, and then steps into the other room. Tommy is sitting up, but still pretty clearly feverish. Tubbo asks without hesitation,

"How is- he, is how- how is he feeling??" Not for the first time, he stutters in the start, breaking up his sentence and betraying his nervousness. KJ begins to reply, only to glance up to the sound of the door opening as Sapnap peeks into the shop.

"Yo, 'ello?" Skeppy slips back out to the front desk, greeting Sapnap.

"Hey! We're just getting Tommy's healing over with, I think, and then I'll get mine done-"

"Yours?" Sapnap questions, and Skeppy shifts to show the other his bandages.

"Got pecked by some stupid bird on the way here. Freakish looking thing. Ant said it kinda looked like a roc but wrong."

Sapnap ponders that, wincing at the mental image of being pecked by a roc.

"Had weird eyes too," Skeppy notes, "never seen a blackbird or even a roc with purple eyes." Sapnap's relaxed posture abandoned, he grabs Skeppy by the arm, and urgently asks,

"Skeppy, a black bird? With like, violet eyes? Kinda uneasy vibes and unnecessarily violent?" Skeppy nods, unnerved by Sapnap's cling on his arm.

"Yeah?? It was in some weird fruit grove too and I hated every second honestly, it was just so freaky and unnatural, we got plenty of really good fruit at least?"

"Skeppy, let me see your injury."

Skeppy looks at him, confused, but begins to take the bandages off. He trusts the other's urgency means something more than him just being worried about his friend.  
Sapnap studies the injury closely, wincing; Tubbo asks, uneasily,

"Why's it purple? It's like it's...bleeding out from the scratches."

"Yeah, yeah," Sapnap says distantly, "Hang on. Hope healer boy knows what he's doing."

The warrior darts out to sit on the steps of the shop. He digs through his bag before pulling out a small book.  
He begins thumbing through it, searching through his narrow writing.

He's sure he wrote in his journal about cures and remedies for poisons and other things he had encountered, including the parasite's venom.

The venom that was surely the cause of the purple hue of Skeppy's injury. Sapnap's arm aches as phantom pain returns to the scars blanketing his forearm.

Skeppy tilts his head, confused as Tubbo shudders slightly.

"It looks really nasty, Skeppy," he says quietly, "way worse than when we bandaged it. It got a whole lot more gross after it was bandaged."

KJ, approaching them, puts a hand over his mouth at the sight of the injury.

"That's fucking nasty," he says bluntly after a moment, "Come on, we need to work on it."

He grabs Skeppy's wrist, leading him into the other room where he sits him down, Tommy having been carried off of the table and to a small cot in the corner, where he's laying down right now.

"What gave you this injury, and how did you treat it?"

Skeppy winces as the healer helps him take his shirt off, and answers,

"A big bird. Black with some red markings, and purple eyes. I disinfected it, got it cleaned with hot water, and then bandaged it after putting some cream on it."  
KJ swabs the injuries gently, the liquid on the cloth stinging slightly and making the hunter hiss, but providing relief from a tension Skeppy wasn't aware had even settled over his shoulder.

"Thankfully you and him," he gestures to Tommy, "Have the same severity of injury, and I can help both. Next time you see an animal like that, avoid it. They're highly venomous and hard to clean properly."

Skeppy nods, taking note of this.  
He stays still and compliant as the healer moves from physically helping with the wound to magically helping, gentle fingers tracing around the gouges, magically drawing out the traces of the venom. He applies a new paste before bandaging it back up, telling him,

"Now that I've done what I can," Skeppy notices that the healer is noticeably worn out, his eyes dim- _brown again_ -and there's rings under them, "it'll heal just fine on its own, given a few days."

Skeppy nods and thanks him, before asking,

"Is there any extra cost applied to this? You look exhausted and I feel like our injuries were a lot worse than expected."

KJ shakes his head.

"Ten gold each," he says faintly, "Twenty total. It's okay, magic just wears me out."

Skeppy claps his shoulder gently, appreciatively, and glances to Tommy as he begins to count out his money,

"How is he?"

KJ grimaces, and explains,

"He'll be fine, but he needs some sleep and stuff. If you just carry him to wherever you're staying, it should be fine. Tell your friend outside that the venom is gone, that you two will be okay."

Skeppy nods, and rolls his shoulder, the numbness in it permeating his back slightly.

"I'll grab him and we can go. Here you go."

He hands the healer his payment, which is gratefully accepted.  
With that, he slowly and carefully slides his arms under Tommy's back and his knees, hefting him up with a slight stumble, and then slowly makes his way to the entrance, Tubbo following him.

"Thank you, KJ! Have a nice day," Tubbo calls back, and the worn out healer waves as they exit the shop. Sapnap nearly collides with them, and catches a brief glimpse of the healer as the door shuts behind the trio.

_He looked wiped out. I wonder how trained he is?  
_ A sensation of unease settles over Sapnap, and he offers to take Tommy, his extra height and strength helping him hold the youth easier, murmuring,

"Let's go find Eret now. He'll give us a place to stay, and information, hopefully."

Skeppy rolls his eyes at the doubt in Sapnap's statement.

"Buddy, you're sure? I'd like to avoid sleeping on a street tonight."

Sapnap nods, and adjusts his hold on Tommy as Tubbo kneels down to coax Fundy into his arms, getting ready to go.

They begin to make their way down the road, though Sapnap glances back a few times at the shop, the healer's voice, what little he had heard of it, bouncing around in his mind. It feels uncomfortably familiar, but he doesn't know _how_. He tries to keep his mind off it as he turns down the alley, the others falling behind and surreptitiously following him.  
A woman dressed in fortune teller's garb looks up at Sapnap, and he requests,

"Could I get the king's reading, miss?"

She raises a brow,

"For all of you? Or only you two?"

"All."

She nods, and begins to flip and shuffle her cards. It seems, though, she's using the motions to cast a spell. Skeppy shivers at the prickle of energy- and the four humans and the fox find themselves slowly fading into an underground lobby of sorts, guards barring their way with their pikes.

"Halt," one orders coolly, "State your name and business."

Sapnap leans closer to quietly inform him,

"Sapnap. I'd like to speak to Eret about assistance on my journey."

The other guard asks,

"Proof of identity?" Sapnap's eyes flash lilac in annoyance, and he jerks his head to Skeppy,

"Hey. Grab the ring in my bag and show them it."

Skeppy digs through until he pulls out a silver ring with a black crown design molded into it, and asks,

"This one, Sapnap?"

  
He shows it, and Sapnap nods. The guards relax, and step aside.

"The King is in the gardens," one informs Sapnap, "Your friends may get detained if you try to bring them in, though."

Skeppy looks around the area, taking in the vast area. They're clearly in the sewers, or below them, but it seems so surreal.

Yellow werelights hover in the air, the sound of running water and echoing voices and footsteps distant but ever present.  
Sapnap's pace is brisk, but he glances around compulsively.

_It's a lot bigger than it was last time. And less under construction. The gardens were this way, right?..._

The whole underground seems to be taken up by this labyrinthine construction. Skeppy surveys it, astounded by how this place seems to be built securely, the roof held up by massive oak beams enforced with bands of metal. It's massive, so much larger than anything he's seen underground before.

"Does this place go under the whole city?" He asks in a hushed tone. Sapnap nods.

"That was Eret's goal when constructing it," he turns a corner, "Though it could be _approaching_ that size and not quite there yet."

Tommy begins to squirm, and Sapnap sets him down, holding his hand gently to lead him along the tunnels.

"Here we are."

He stops at the edge of a room that looks like a large, underground, conservatory. An artificial sunlight trickles over the leaves of trees and vines, sending shimmers over the water in the grass.  
A man kneels near a strawberry patch, watering can in hand despite his regal clothing and crown.  
Sapnap glances around for guards, and then calls out,

"Eret?" The man twists to look at them, standing up. He's wiry, tall and elegant in his posture as he brushes his muddy brown hair out of his face; his eyes are covered by dark lenses. In spite of that, Skeppy can feel a discerning gaze rest on him and the other two boys as he levels his obscured eyes upon them.

"Sapnap?" He utters the name in a calm, deep, and collected voice that gives the impression that no matter what situation may come, Eret would have a solution. Skeppy relaxes a little, the 'king' having a less menacing aura than he had expected. Sapnap steps forwards, careful not to crush any of the garden, and wraps the other man in a hug. Eret's cloak drags in the grass as they embrace, though a noticeably surprised expression flickers across the ruler's face.

"I know it's been a long time," Sapnap says in a soft, apologetic tone, "But I need help, and you're the only person I could think to ask. Could we catch up a bit before I fill you in?"

Eret chuckles, releasing him (to Sapnap's sudden, unexpected, disappointment) and replying gently,

"Of course- but first, would you mind showing me proof of your identity?" Sapnap reaches for the ring, and holds it up, flashing his eyes to purple for a minute. "Alright. Who are your friends?"

Tommy blinks blearily at the man, slouching against Skeppy's arm now since Sapnap had let go of him to hug Eret.  
Tubbo tightens his grip on the fox, who whines, and Skeppy takes the lead.

"Name's Skeppy," he introduces himself, and nods to the others in turn, "Tommy, and Tubbo. Plus Fundy, he's the fox."

"Eret, pleasure to meet you," he says, with surprising warmth as he steps closer, offering his hand to Skeppy for a handshake. Skeppy shakes, noting Eret's hands are calloused and warm, the hands of someone who works with his hands often, not a noble or something similar.

_He may be a king only in community granted title, it seems_ , the hunter contemplates.

Skeppy watches the warm look Sapnap gives Eret as the king leads them out of the conservatory. Sapnap seemed to be quite open with him; likely Eret had been a kind mentor who built a relationship with Sapnap during the time he had the other under his wing.  
They chat quietly as they make their way up the tunnel, the ground sloping beneath their feet, taking them higher and higher until they reach a ladder.

"Watch your heads," Eret advises, opening a trapdoor as he climbs up. Sapnap follows, and Skeppy ushers Tubbo up, and then passing him the fox and helping Tommy up the rungs before making his way up the rungs.

They're in a modest home, tucked in a cubby behind some boxes and shelves.  
Eret closes the trapdoor, standing up as he gestures around to a hall (Skeppy assumes they're in a storage room of sorts) that leads to the sitting room.

"I'll make some tea for us, would the kids like hot chocolate?" Skeppy gestures weakly,

"You don't need to, you're-"

"I'm the host, and it wouldn't be very courteous of me to leave you all looking so exhausted without at least offering my hospitality." Eret's argument makes sense, and Skeppy glances at the kids.

"...tea sounds great, and I'm not sure they've ever had hot chocolate, but I'm sure they'd like it." Tubbo tilts his head slightly, curiosity in his gaze as he asks,

"Hot chocolate?" Eret's gasp almost seems fake, but he looks genuinely excited.

"They've never had hot chocolate? Okay now you don't have a choice, I've got to make them hot chocolate with marshmallows." He claps his hands slightly. Tommy and Tubbo exchange concerned but intrigued looks, and Skeppy concedes with a smile, knowing that they _will_ enjoy the drink.

Sapnap holds up a finger, and Eret nods,

"I know. Chorus flower tea. You've still not developed a tolerance?"

"Actually, I have," Sapnap replies sheepishly, "it's just not very high. I was going to ask if I could have hot chocolate too..."

Eret's excitement grows, and he opens his cupboard, searching for the hot chocolate and marshmallows alike. Skeppy adds on a meek tone,

"I'll take hot chocolate too. Not much for tea, y'know?"

They settle down in chairs, Tubbo and Tommy tentatively settling on the floor, not sure if they're permitted to sit in the chairs. The sight makes Sapnap's heart sink, and he tells them gently,

"You can sit in the chairs, guys. It's okay." Skeppy watches as they perch awkwardly on a chair together, Tubbo eventually opting to settle Tommy on his lap, letting the other lean on him, still tired and disoriented from the toll the magical healing had taken on his body.

  
In a minute or two, Eret bustles over with a tray of cups that he hands out carefully.

"I cooled them down with milk so nobody burns their mouth!" He cheerfully informs them, neatly settling into a chair with his own cup of tea. The boys eye the liquid with wariness, but the aroma gets the best of Tommy, who takes a tiny sip.

His eyes widen, and he looks up at Tubbo with a look of astonishment.

"Tubbo!" He rasps, excited, more excited than he has the right to be over hot chocolate, "Tubbo, it's fuckin delicious, you've got to try it!"

With his friend's coaxing, Tubbo takes a sip as well, and within seconds the two are discussing this substance in hushed voices, their eyes bright and almost mischievous.

While they're occupied with the drink, Eret asks Sapnap the question this all had been leading up to.

"So, old friend...what can I help you with?"

Sapnap's inhale and quiet exhale seems to take forever to Skeppy, before the raven-haired warrior began to lay out their situation.

He began to weave the explanation of how the parasite had leaked into the Nether, how Techno had fallen victim to it.

How Tommy, Tubbo, Philza, and Wilbur had been exiled, with the boys interjecting now and then.

  
He gets to the part about Skeppy's village, and it's like the hunter is back then.

  
Back in the chaos, the confusion, in the dark. He's floundering after George through the crowd of creatures, slashing and battering his way.  
He can again hear Bad's shrill scream, once again see him being dragged to the portal-

"Skeppy?" Sapnap's voice cuts through his haze for a moment, and Skeppy becomes aware of his face resting on his hand, the one holding the cup shaking and trembling as tears spilled from his eyes.

He scrubs them away with his glove furiously, and replies, his voice cracking,

"Yeah?" Tubbo slips out from under Tommy and hugs the hunter.

"Skeppy, it'll be a'ight," he says softly, "Tommy and me will find Phil and Wilbur, and you'll find Bad." Skeppy laughs bitterly, shakily.

"I hope to gods you're right, Tubbo."

As Skeppy calms himself just a little, Tubbo now slinking back to sit next to Tommy once again, he becomes aware of Eret inspecting him curiously. His gaze is filled with some indiscernible emotion; intrigue? Or perhaps more of a wary gaze filled with calculation? Regardless of the intent behind the stare, Skeppy feels unnerved, his spine prickling. He doesn't know this man in the slightest.

Sapnap takes a breath and finishes off their story.

"I fought with Skeppy when I found out that he knew his friend's soulmate is Dream- yeah like the prince of the End, that Dream -and then we split ways for a few days. Tommy came with me, and got bitten by a wolf that seemed to have traits of a being consumed by the parasite. His wound got badly infected, but we luckily found a healer here in the city who was capable enough to treat it."

Eret digests this, and glances to Tubbo and Skeppy, asking,

"Where were they?" Skeppy volunteers this time, answering his question.

"We took a longer route, but didn't get sidetracked and arrived at roughly the same time. We met up with a shifter who was searching for his mate, and the four of us-"

Eret raises a brow at the number, and Skeppy points to Fundy, whose bright eyes follow Eret intently from under the table.

"The four of us made our way along to the city. We stopped to gather fruit and were attacked by a strange, and rather large, bird who apparently had similar traits to the wolf that attacked Tommy. I was injured, but it seemed to be relatively easy to heal."

Sapnap jumps a bit in his seat, suddenly bouncing his leg as the memory of being told to thank Skeppy on behalf of Ant floods his mind.

"Skeppy, I," Eret glances at him, and then Skeppy turns his gaze to Sapnap, "I forgot, Ant told me to thank you! We found his boyfriend, and they're safely together again." Skeppy beams, and Tubbo remarks,

"That's good, I was a little worried the poor cat had drowned and Ant was in denial." Tommy and Sapnap sputter at the sudden pessimistic statement from Tubbo, who smiles sweetly and takes a sip of his hot chocolate.

Eret leans on his hand, staring seemingly right through Skeppy.

"So the aid you request is?..."

"Right, right," Sapnap says hastily, "I'll get to the point. We need to get-"

"To the embassy," Skeppy murmurs, suddenly recalling the letter. They all turn to him, and he holds up his hands, "Dream's advice, not mine! He said to ask about maps of the mountain range, and then to find the embassy and locate maps there to traverse the Nether safely."

Sapnap nods slowly, a glint in his eyes as he realizes the truth to the statement.

"That isn't wrong. But what I was _initially_ going to ask for was if you knew any men willing to throw themselves at a Nether fortress and beat it till it cracks so I can help get rid of the parasite the leader of this fortress is being influenced by, as well as getting loverboy his boyfriend back."

Skeppy makes a slight protest in the back of his throat, but it dies seeing the smile on Eret's face.

"So, a suicide mission, or tantamount to one?" He asks pleasantly, and Sapnap nods.

"You know people. Any who fit the profile?"

"Many," Eret says wearily, a sudden look of exhaustion overtaking him, "Too many. I'll see if any would be interested in traversing mountains and joining you at the embassy. From what I know of it, there's a deactivated portal there, but it shouldn't be challenging to reignite it." He gestures to the room around them, "Until you need to leave, however, my home is yours. You look like you've had a rough journey so far; maybe head to the bathhouse to clean off?" Skeppy nods at the suggestion, eager, and Sapnap tells the boys with a grin,

"I'll buy you two hooligans new clothes while we're here. Might be a good idea to get a set more suited to the mountains and the Nether alike."

Eret interjects for a moment.

"There's a road to the mountains, through the mountains, and it's still in fair condition. You won't need to invest in mountaineering clothes nor gear."

Skeppy breathes a sigh of relief. _And thank gods for that!_

After all is said and their drinks are done, the four set out (leaving a very peeved Fundy in the house with Eret) to wash up and get new clothing.


	27. Chapter 27

Finding clothes the right size for the teens was easy enough, surprisingly, and after a bit the two young men were also now carrying new clothes.

Now with clean clothes to change into when they were done, they headed to bathe. They chatter casually as they make their way to the bathhouse. Skeppy is thankful that it's been made accessible for people such as them.

The open space before the entrance to the water, with buckets, towels, cloths and soap, is sparsely populated, and despite this, Skeppy still has a moment of hesitation before deciding it isn't bad to bring the teens in for a bath anyway. He beckons them over to the adjoined baths, making sure that they have a somewhat separate area to go bathe so they won't feel awkward.

Sinking into the warm water is a whole new relief for him, even as he contemplates replacing his bandages later with a wince. Sapnap sinks down until half his face is above the water.  
Skeppy is certain this is a hot spring and not a magically heated, artificial spring, but it doesn't particularly matter. Tubbo and Tommy, despite their intense dislike of rain and other water, seem fine with the warmer water, even splashing each other and playing as they wade over to the adjoined area to wash off.

As they do, though he isn't _staring_ , Skeppy notices that Tubbo has an odd marking in between his shoulder blades that almost resembles a design in red ink, and that around the middle of Tommy's back his skin starts to become mottled with pinkish skin that resembles that of a piglin.

They're small details that stick out in a prominent manner as the two comically play in the water. They eventually settle down to help each other wash up, as Skeppy and Sapnap do the same.

"Watch out for the gouge," he warns Sapnap with a flinch as the other begins to wash his back for him. He can't reach that far right now, and besides, it's a bit comforting to share this activity. The rhythmic strokes of the cloth over his skin and the scent of the soap they were using lull him into a bliss, until he dunks down to wash off and trades places with Sapnap.

Across the spring, he can hear Tubbo reprimand Tommy sharply,

"Don't be so rough with that spot! You know the mark is always stupid tender." Tommy apologizes softly, and lightens up around the marking. Skeppy's thoughts stray, wondering what that marking _is_ exactly, but he decides against asking. It's weird enough that he noticed it, after all.

But he can't avoid seeing how Sapnap's skin is littered with tiny scars, and the horrible scarring on his friend's arm; a scar that fades to a faint lavender in the middle.  
He musters up the words to ask,

"Your arm, uh— what happened?"

Sapnap dips it under the water, hiding it from view.

"Just...you saw those things that attacked your friend George, right? I got swarmed by them. They tried to take my arm off, one's fangs broke off in my flesh. They do that, sorta— their teeth break off as these venomous spines that embed in prey. I'm pretty sure that's why it healed purple, too."

Skeppy winces as he imagines it, and without any more words or questions, they finish up, drying off and heading back to Eret's once they changed into their new clothes.

  
Tubbo and Tommy look much more vibrant after they washed off all the grime from their travels, and a smile plays around Skeppy's lips as he watches, out of the corner of his eye, both of them secretively petting each other's hair behind Sapnap and Skeppy's backs, marveling at how soft it now is.  
 _They're so sweet and innocent...I hope we can find their friends soon, they're too young to have to endure such hardships._

An idea begins to bubble up in his mind, solidifying into a plan, a question. Something he can, perhaps, ask of Eret...

"Tubbo," Skeppy says as they turn the corner, "perhaps you should ask Eret if he's heard any news of those people you lost. Maybe he knows something about them?"

Tubbo shrugs, and admits,

"It's possible, but I dunno if he'll have _recent_ information or anything like that..." Skeppy claps him on the shoulder enthusiastically, exclaiming,

"Well, you should try! The chance of knowing is better than the certainty of not knowing, ain't it?" A slight drawl creeps into the end of his sentence as the boy beams shyly under the infectious optimism (even though it was, if Skeppy was honest, a bit forced) that his friend radiates.

"You've got it there," Tubbo agrees, and Tommy quietly grabs hold of his hand, without explanation, looking at the ground. Tubbo glances to him, and the blond raises a watery blue gaze from the cobble path for a second. "Tommy?..."

"...I miss Wilbur," Tommy bites out after a second, rubbing at his tears with his sleeve. "I miss Philza too, and even Techno. I— it's stupid but Eret makes me think of them."

Sapnap frowns, looking over Tommy, his flushed cheeks and bright gaze.  
 _He's still recovering, isn't he? I hope he doesn't get sick and slow us all down._

"Tommy, are you feeling alright?" He asks as the blond sniffles, not replying, tightening his hold on Tubbo's hand. Skeppy takes Tubbo's other hand gently, Sapnap taking Tommy's free hand as well (to Tommy's chagrin) and the four head along towards Eret's home.

"See," Skeppy says brightly, "there's no need to be all mopey and sad about it, Tommy! I'll make sure you two find Wilbur and Philza. I'll get Bad back, and if you haven't found them by then, I'll keep helping you look." Tommy sniffs heavily, and sticks out his tongue.

"We'll find them before then," he decides, "since ye have yer weddin' to plan!" Skeppy gulps, and Sapnap lets out a cackle.

"Ohhhh you got him! I call best man, you guys can be flower girls!" Skeppy shoots him an embarrassed glare around Tommy's back; Sapnap responds by sticking out his tongue with a playful snort.

The sun is setting on another day. Skeppy becomes solemn as the sky fades to hues of orange, violet, and indigo.  
 _Another day where Bad is still being hurt, far away from where I can hold him and help bandage his wounds. Far away from where I can tell him things will be alright._

Though, a small smile graces his face as he remembers the piglin guard he'd seen in his dreams, the one giving Bad water.  
 _There's somehow always good where he goes. Darryl has a special soul in that way...finding something beautiful amidst an ugly world._

The sky has gone dark by the time they arrive at Eret's again, shy stars twinkling faintly above them.

Tubbo pauses before they go inside.

"Look," he says in a hushed voice, raising him and Tommy's interlaced hands to point at the sky, "the stars!"

Skeppy looks up to see small streaks of light in the sky, shooting off to distant horizons as though to point him in the direction of the man who so often showed him such phenomena.  
 _Shooting stars._

_ "Shooting stars, Skeppy! Make a wish!" _

Bad's voice is so clear in his mind, and he takes a small breath.

"Make a wish," he tells the other three softly, "But don't tell anyone what it is or it won't come true..."

Sapnap scoffs, but regardless, he too stares into the night sky as the shooting stars overhead streak and vanish from sight, wishing.  
Skeppy's wish is laced with the same desperation as his, he's sure.  
 _I wish I could find my soulmate again_. Sapnap's thought rings out clear in the silence, his mind almost too loud.

As they become aware of their surroundings again, the last streaks of light fading from the seemingly endless darkness above them, Tubbo and Tommy meet eyes briefly, twin grins on their faces.

"Did you make it?" Tubbo asks him almost breathlessly, and Tommy smiles warmly.

"Of course." The certainty in his tone makes Sapnap's heart twist a little, and makes Skeppy look away, staring into the woodwork as though it fascinates him.

They both know the other's thoughts, their pained realization of what the two teens must have wished for.  
The elder two weren’t the only ones wishing for people’s safety.

After a second of the night chill settling over them, Skeppy reaches to open the door, about to call out a greeting to Eret on the group's behalf— only for an orange blur to shoot out past his legs with a yowl.

"Fundy!!" Tubbo's call echoes off the walls as he tears away from the others, jogging after the fox into the darkened streets.

Skeppy curses, and tells Sapnap,

"Stay here with Tommy, I'll go with him to get the blighter back."

Not leaving any room for protest, Skeppy adjusts his shoulder strap and dashes after Tubbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was honestly just some nice, consumable fluff....have fun with it.


	28. Chapter 28

You're weary, your shoulders aching from the weight you carry

A gentle hand rests on your arm, a light voice asking you quietly,

"We should rest, shouldn't we? It's dark and we've been going for days without sleeping." Your mouth curves into a displeased grimace, and the speaker tries again, "You'll be able to use more magic if you sleep, right?"

You run a hand through your hair, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath.

"It's not so easy," you sigh, "if I sleep I know that all the voices will try to help." Your companion sits down next to you, and brushes his messy bangs out of his eyes.

"The voices still haven't calmed down?"

"Not since we fell through...and recently one's been very insistent. She wants me to come home." You adjust your hat, standing up and then pulling your overcoat down from where it had bunched up during flight. "We need to keep going. On foot, if we need to. It's not like it will make it worse to keep going, right?"

  
The other man raises an anxious gaze to the sky, pointing to the circling creatures.

"Yeah, it can. The phantoms will just keep coming if we don't rest." He nocks an arrow, taking aim as one of the phantoms dives for him, his arrow impaling it through its torso and dropping the body to the ground.

He retrieves his arrow, and looks to you.

"You need to have a little faith," you scold him, "I know what we need to do, alright?..."

He bites his lip, murmuring,

"I know, I know...you've got a plan. But he hasn't answered you yet, has he?"

  
You wince, and open your eyes as whispers of your allies, alive and dead alike, begin to fill your mind. Every time you relax, they sense your concern and flood in, asking questions, offering help, asking if you'll be okay.  
 _"What's wrong? What's wrong? Can I help? Do you need me?"_

You put your hands over your ears, and he reaches over to place his hands on your shoulders.

"Take a deep breath," he murmurs, and then makes you look up as the living whispers fade, the dead whispers growing louder and louder and— "Look at me."

He forces you to meet his eyes, his dark gaze piercing into your light one. You know he isn't a strong mage, but you can feel him stroking down the cries and questions with his weak magic.  
He usually uses a focus object to help him with his spells, but all he can do right now is pull you out of your head, into his eyes...

"...it's alright," you tell him, "they're quiet now. Thank you."

He nods slightly, and you release your spell. He flinches as a brittle shattering fills the air; and then it fades.  
He lays next to you, tucking his head against your chest as you hide yourselves in the brush. He murmurs,

"You're okay. Deep breaths, we'll find them soon."

You let yourself be reassured, holding him to you and listening to his breathing, his heartbeat.  
You're both alive, and you're sure they are too. You can feel two gentle heartbeats resonating somewhere in the distance.

You'll find them, no matter what.

No matter how many voices pound inside your skull and how many times you push yourself to the limit.

His eyes close and you feel him drift into sleep.  
You join him soon, strangled by whispers of people that you know are dead.

_They're not in the whispers, so everything is alright._

* * *

Everything is so fuzzy. Bad thinks for sure that he's dying— at least half a dozen times —in the endless hours between guard changes.

His arms have long since gone numb and his feet ache from the position he's forced into. And there's other, more gross, factors that make this situation horrible and humiliating for him.  
He lolls limply, barely holding himself up properly anymore. He's desperate. His voice is silenced, having long since given out, his cries so futile that they could've never helped him. It would never help him.

It was better for him to stay silent. The less he screams, the less he's hurt. The less he speaks, the less they hurt him.  
 _Quiet. Don't provoke._

Bad wonders where Assu is, if she even gets assigned to guard this area. Where could Skeppy be, right now? If Bad suddenly came face to face with his friend, he's not sure what he would say, or even do. He's not sure what he would feel.  
He's struggling to stay aloft in his sinking raft of a mind.

He feels so sick. Sick of this situation— he feels so dirty, so broken and abused from all the humiliating torture that he's experienced. He feels _violated_. There's no word other than that, to describe how one feels when they've been forced to the lowest state they could be in and relentlessly battered.

No other words to describe people laughing at you being forced to ingest poison that burns through you until you throw it back up, knowing with a sense of burning shame that every moment you see as embarrassing, shameful, or humiliating, they see as entertainment.

Bad wishes he was _able_ to cry for help though. He wishes that he wasn't so helpless, or that he could pretend he wasn't.  
He wishes he could pretend that every time one of the guards touched him, he didn't flinch, he didn't cringe inwards on himself until he started crying, afraid of the next horror they'd choose for him. He wishes that wasn't his reality.

  
Through half-lidded eyes heavy with the urge to sleep, Bad can see his guard moving, peeking in, looking around furtively. He blinks a few times, opening his mouth only for no sound to come out.  
The guard approaches, and whispers,

"It's okay. Assu is not assigned to this portion of the fortress but I'm a friend. Here, drink this." He pulls out a bottle of pink liquid, and tips it to Bad's lips.

The human begins to tremble, shaking as tears fill his eyes. He shakes his head, trying to pull back.  
 _No! No more potions, no more!_

In his mind, Assu's name doesn't even register; his vision has tunneled onto the potion and the sensation of the guard trying to tip it into his mouth.

"It won't hurt you," the guard reassures anxiously, "Please! Hurry, if you keep struggling and making noise then you don't have much time, and if you don't drink it now I'll have to lace it with something to hurt you so I have an excuse to feed you it!"

Still Bad resists, struggling as best he can until, finally, the guard takes a sharp breath.

"Gods, I'm sorry for this," he murmurs, and forces his fingers into Bad's mouth, jamming it open. Bad goes perfectly still, limp, eyes wide with panic. "Just drink it, okay? It's hard to make this stuff."

The bottle is tipped further, the liquid dribbling into Bad's mouth as he continues to be compliant, though it's clearly only out of pure terror.  
As his mouth floods with the warm liquid that tastes faintly of watermelon, he begins to gag, trying to close his mouth but finding himself only swallowing the potion in airless, painful gulps.

A sensation of relief ripples through him, and he immediately becomes less afraid of the potion, willingly allowing the guard to continue giving him it (once he removes his fingers from Bad's mouth, apologizing profusely for the violation).

"It's a healing potion," the guard explains softly, "I thought you knew that, being a healer like you're supposed to be. But I guess that they traumatized you pretty badly around potions, didn't they?" Bad nods slightly, tearing up at the memories, "I heard you stop screaming midway through a session the other cycle. They broke your voice, didn't they?" Another nod.

The potion is drained now, and Bad hungrily laps at the final droplets in the bottle, seeking the relief from his agony that it offers. The guard pulls the empty bottle back, to Bad's disappointment, and pulls out a regular bottle of water that he tips to Bad's lips, allowing him to drink.

"Assu told me to tell you that she's working on things. No contact from her friend yet, but well...She's a clever sow." Bad's expression softens. "She says that if she can't get word back from her friend within a...week? Is that the correct word?...then she'll use her other plan, and get you out on her own. She doesn't want to risk you getting killed though."

Bad makes a face. He knows Assu's caution is warranted, and wants to make it out of here alive as well...but god.  
 _How much more can I take? How much more am I even CAPABLE of taking?_

The guard begins to feed him a slice of bread, murmuring,

"The potion should tide you over for a while, this is to help with absorbing it." He's clearly a lot more fluent in English than Assu, Bad notes distantly, and he wonders about if there's more piglin like them.

"My name is Lum," the guard adds, almost as though it's an afterthought; and to be fair, Bad hadn't really heard many piglin names before now. "I'm sorry."

His apology accompanies him dashing back out to his guard post, leaving Bad to stare up into the green eyes that fade back in, blinking lazily at the abused human.

Bad stares back, hard. He can feel the potion slowly eroding his pains and injuries, even on his arm. It's like his magic, but so much faster and better, almost.  
 ** _My magic wouldn't be so bad if I let someone teach me how to use it._**

He blinks, confused. That thought...was true, but he also can't tell why he would've thought it in the first place. After all, nobody in the Nether teaches magic.

**_Nobody who's willingly in the Nether, at least. Unless they're very patient, stupid, or skilled._ **

Again, a thought that feels...off. He shakes his head, surveying the room with a hint of paranoia. Only the eyes.

Lum glances in, and what he sees is Bad locked in a staring contest with—  
He looks away, shocked, staring at the ground as his body locks up in fear.

The only way he can describe what he saw in that cell was a _demon_. A demon with horrific, bright, acid green eyes that seared through the air itself. He closes his eyes, the image of its twisted, winged form still branding his retinas, lingering as a taunting mirage of horror.

He looks into the cell again, and it's gone. It's gone.

"Was there something, in here?" He asks, shakily. The healer tugs against his chains for a second, testing his arm, and shrugs, shaking his head.  
 _Just the eyes. Just me and my hallucination._

Lum doesn't know if he should trust him, and his doubt heightens when he sees Bad's eyes brighten to match the _thing's_ eyes, shadowy claws creeping around his neck and causing the human to cough. It's gone as quickly as it happened though, and Lum is left staring at Bad as he slumps once again, shivering. He's left with a bitter taste in his mouth, the knowledge that something is _wrong_ here.

Something is so horribly, achingly wrong.

Lum doesn't want to get involved, but _s_ _omeone_ needs to— someone needs to get to the bottom of this. Piece this together, somehow.

He'll do it if he needs to.


	29. Chapter 29

The clock on the bedside table begins to ring, and George jumps, his pen dragging across the page and leaving a jagged trail of ink in its wake.  
He groans, looking at the ruined exercise sheet filled with careful copies of the glyphs used in the End's alphabet. Pushing his chair out and setting his pen down, George stands up. He leaves the room he had been studying in.

The halls are empty of servants, empty of _anyone_ except him, and he wanders in search of Clay, seeking his company. It's been several hours, longer than usual, and on some level George is worried. It's likely just a meeting dragged on too long, but he still worries. How could he not? Clay clearly has enemies, many of them, as any noble does.

He drifts to the meeting room, and finds it empty, the table neatly cleared of papers. George wrinkles his face in confusion, and decides on the gardens this time. Surely Clay didn't leave the palace without telling him?...

He wracks his brain for a memory of the other telling him, or anything— but the past several hours are undisturbed studying. The last time he had seen Clay was that morning before he left to attend to his duties.

They had parted with Clay placing a sweet kiss on George's forehead and reminding him to ask if he needed any help, telling him where he would be— _the meeting room._ Where he clearly wasn't at the moment...

  
George steps out onto the balcony, looking over the gardens for any sign of people moving around. He's sure he'd be able to pick out Clay in his royal regalia and distinctive mask; the balcony isn't that high up.

The sky over the town seems to be moving at first glance. George narrows his eyes, and realizes it's filled with creatures he recognizes from the Overworld— Phantoms. Or, they look like Phantoms at the least.

They circle like vultures, descending slowly on the town and George leans further on the railing, straining his vision.

_What could they be doing? And why here? I thought they didn't spawn in this place?_

He hears footsteps behind him, and turns to see a tall, elegant Ender being stepping out onto the balcony with him. Curiously, he watches as they bow to him, and respectfully inform him,

"I've been sent to fetch you on behalf of the prince. He sends his regards and apologies for being tied up so long." George relaxes, relieved by the news.

"Where is he? I've been looking for him all over the palace." They smile placidly, and blink their bright blue eyes at him.

"Follow me. Like I said, I've been sent to fetch you." George is a little perturbed by this; it's a simple question, unless there was trouble they should've been more forthcoming with the answer. Regardless, he swallows his concerns, chalking it up to cultural differences.  
 _They could be patronizing me since I'm technically a lower rank than them. I'm not even officially Clay's consort, after all— he wanted to keep it secret how important our relationship was so there was no chance of either of us getting hurt for it._

He follows them through the halls, still noting the prominent absence of any other servants roaming the halls. Slowly, he becomes more tense, his hunter's instincts insisting something is wrong with this situation.

 _There's more here than meets the eye,_ he thinks decisively, hand creeping towards the dagger Clay gave him, currently tucked away in its sheath under the bottom of his tunic. It won't help much in a fight, but if he needs to use it, he wants to be ready.  
  
He feels his spine prickle as he watches his guide, noticing some sort of...odd, writhing motion under their shirt as they stop by a door. _Something bad is going to happen if I'm not ready to act as soon as that door opens._

George is certain of this.

"The prince awaits your arrival within," they tell him calmly, and George waits as they open the door.

He had many scenarios lined up in his thoughts, many horrific outcomes—

Clay stumbles over, collapsing to his knees, mask still fixed firmly on his face as he chokes, breaths ragged.

"N—" he gags, "Notfound— get— get out— run— bedroom— passage— down— down—"

He tilts his chin up, an ashen pallor spreading throughout his skin as George stumbles back, away from the servant and prince alike with a faint cry.

"You!—" 

"Paras— parasite," Clay manages, "Back...go find, seals...quick..."

George can see it now, the writhing black mass overtaking him and clinging to the servant. Everything in his brain screams to attack the creature, but he knows that he runs a risk if he does that.  
He begins to back away, and then bolts, his footsteps clattering against the floor and echoing off the walls as he flees.  
 _It's a parasite, not a predator— why would it chase me?_

But George still runs, for the sake of his soulmate. Surely he was being ordered to find something that would help with curbing the spread of it, right?...

* * *

Back at the door, Clay lays prone, barely holding himself up as he leans on one forearm.

He can feel the parasite once more engulfing him, except this time he's horribly aware as it penetrates his skin, latching into his nerves and veins, its venom coursing through his bloodstream and causing his thoughts to become hazy even as he struggles, resisting its influence mentally as he fights physically, weakly reaching back to paw at the mass on his back.

_I swore not to let it happen again. I swore, I promised, I made an OATH..._

But yet, he can feel his mind warping as the creature's control cements, sending his rational voice into the darkness of ambition and arrogance.

He stumbles to his feet, and brushes himself off, scanning the halls, his dimmed vision searching for George.  
A sensation of longing springs to mind, twisted and inflated by the poison even now flooding his body.

 _I...I'll find him,_ he decides, stumbling against the wall as he follows the path to his room, knowing better than George where he had told the other to go, _And I'll show him how much I want to have him close, I'll love him in the way only I can. I'll cover him in my love until he knows nothing else. Nothing more, nothing less— only me. Wouldn't that be lovely? Just us._

The parasite ripples, excited by the idea of another host to take as Clay shambles through the halls, his legs leaden and barely controlled properly as the parasite reclaims his nervous system, then his muscles, until he's finally back under the complete control of it.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he cries out, pained by his defeat, the breaking of his oath, and by what he can tell is going to happen to George.

But that voice is too smothered to make a difference in the actions his body is even now taking.

* * *

George stumbles into Clay's room, his chest tight with fear and his breathing shaky.

_Is he following me? I can't tell, I don't— oh gods..._

He barricades the door with a chair, and then fumbles with the engravings on the wall until it clicks, sliding open.

George grabs the lantern and lights it, the panel sliding shut behind him as he begins to trot down the passage.

_Down— down...I think he means to a subterranean place. He mentioned there were underground portions to the passages..._

He can hear something outside the wall, and dares to peek through the peephole in the painting; the sight of the shambling figure outside of it makes him pull back, swallowing hard.  
Just a servant of the palace, a parasite latched onto their head and digging its tendrils into their body. Not Clay.

_But he's in no better state, I need to find the seals—_

He keeps moving, down the tunnel, down, down further until he's shivering from a supernatural chill in the air. He's not aware, at first, of it, but realizes when he steps close to the end of the tunnel, a door, that the whole area is drenched in enchantments.

 _"Halt."_ A honeyed voice sounds in his mind, as he spots a keyboard-like series of glyphs on the door's surface. _"Answer or be turned away."_

"I will," George answers, shaking, "Please, make it quick, it's urgent."

 _"Tell us your Name,"_ The voice requests. George reaches over, searching for the correct glyphs. He firmly thinks _George_ as he does so, just in case. _"...state your purpose to the guardian."_

George's desperation grows, and he pleads,

"I need to find the seals, to get rid of the parasite, it's back and it—it has Dream and I need to help him!"

With a clunk, somewhere inside the door, a mechanism shifts. It rolls out of the way, and George hurtles in, only for a pair of warm hands to stop him from crashing into a shelf.

"Calm yourself," a voice warns sharply, "You'll hurt something, or me."

George looks up at the figure, not sure who exactly they are. Eyes the same bright yellow as Clay's bore into him from a void that seems to only loosely take humanoid shape.

"Please I—"

"The seals. I'm aware. You're not a mage, however. Here." They press a candle into George's hands, a blue candle, and they warn him, "Only activate it when you're in the open unless you wish to be harmed, greatly. The spell it's imbibed with will shut down every parasite within at least several thousand miles of your position, but there's room for error and it doesn't last forever for most of them. If you can save the prince, he can properly use the seal." George nods, and glances around the odd room, crystalline walls shimmering as the figure wisps away slightly, and ushers him to the door.

"Wait—who are you? Can I have a match?" The figure begins to shut the door.

"Your intent to light the candle is all you'll need. And that doesn't matter."

It rolls shut, leaving George with that blunt statement, clutching the candle in his white-knuckled and shaking hands.

He takes a deep breath.  
 _Of course they had a plan for a secondary outbreak. It would be stupid if they didn't, right? So I get out to the front of the palace and activate it, and then just run to find Clay._

He makes his way back up the passage slowly, cautiously, now without a light as he guesses at which tunnels will lead to the outside, unaware of Clay— no, _Dream_ , once again the man who would commit atrocities for his own purposes —slowly stumbling down the tunnel to find his unwitting soulmate.

The parasite can almost smell the human through Dream's senses, and it eagerly pushes onwards, tracking the warmth and the heat of George as he flees.  
  
He can hear the other's footsteps and some primal part of him begins to pant, eager in the hunt of his target.  
 _He's not getting away. He doesn't know the way. He can't escape._

George soon hears the other's footsteps, and he begins to run in earnest.   
He runs down tunnels blindly as he heaves for air. For all he can see, his vision is now tunneling, focusing desperately on a way out and a way to _escape_ , to flee the predator he can feel bearing down on him ever so slowly.

He can hear his heartbeat resonating in his ears when he collides with a solid surface, sure that it's a wall— a dead end, his final freedom before he's surely ravaged and taken over by the parasite.

He spares a glance over his shoulder, and regrets it; seeing the body of the man he knew and has come to love stumbling down the hall slowly, his skin penetrated by thousands of silken strands of darkness...

The look on his face as he seems to realize George is trapped...

It brings a bitter taste to George's mouth, his adrenaline-induced panic now mixing with an abject sense of despair and horror.

If he gets this wrong, if he fucks up, both he and Clay are lost to this _monster_.

He fumbles, searching for a handle, a way to open the hatch— _please let it be a hatch, please let it be a hatch_ —only to feel unwelcome warmth as Clay's puppeteered form finally reaches him, pinning him to the solid surface behind him.

"George," he whispers softly, almost lovingly if it weren't for the pervasive sense of wrongness this whole situation had, "I've found you now. Come here, I'll make sure nobody can hurt you again. I'll protect you."

George can see tendrils reaching for him even as he turns his head to the side to avoid the kiss that Clay tries to press to his lips, and he thrashes against his weight, reaching for his dagger even as his right hand glances over something metal.  
 _Of course it would be on the right! Fuck!_

He swings at the tendrils, cutting at them. The creature let out a shriek through Clay's mouth, and Clay pleads,

"Don't hurt me George," George freezes slowly, feeling the compulsion that came with his Name being used in the request, "that wasn't nice of you, I'm just trying to help you. If you let me help I can take it all away from you— pain, overthinking, troubles...all of it, and you'll have me instead. I can be your everything. Just stop trying to get away..."

George wants to kick the parasite, to kick _Clay_ even— but before he can do that, he manages to press down the handle, and the hatch behind them swings outwards almost explosively, sending George into a tall bush, the candle flying out of his hand and onto the ground a few feet away even as Clay hurtles into a thorny plant.

George's sympathy rises, but he struggles up, reaching for the candle.  
 _It's now or never. Now or NEVER._

As George grasps the candle, the wax smooth against his calloused palms, he wishes desperately.

_Light! Please light!_

He wasn't sure if this was in the open. There aren't walls around him and he can see the sky so...it seems open ENOUGH...

He hopes.

As his willpower sparks at the wick, the prince unable to stop him soon enough, the candle lights, a shockwave traveling out from it in a flash of blue light so blinding that for a second George blinks back tears, his vision stained white with the after image.

He's frozen in place, laying on the ground where he landed. Nothing seems right— nothing seems to make sense. He sways slightly, and topples back, his head colliding painfully with the ground beneath him.

* * *

Clay comes to his senses, feeling the prickling of the parasite as it slowly slides away from his body. Disgust in the form of bile rises in his throat, and he hacks at the remaining tendrils with his knife.

He's angry at the violation, but at the same time he's ashamed that he failed. He failed at his duties, failed in the extermination— he was sure that he had scrubbed the creature from their world.

  
But his other emotions dampen quickly under the cold fear that drenches him when he sees George, the brunet sprawled on the ground.

The blue candle has fallen from his grip, rolling away a few inches, and Clay swallows heavily, crawling over with a hiss of pain.

There are still thorns embedded in him, but he's more concerned about the unconscious Overworlder. He leans down, looking over George and the starburst of blackened skin on his left cheek. It's as if a burst of ash and smoke had gone off in his face, but it was clearly from the candle...  
  
The candle. Clay takes it in his hand, and clenches his fingers around the warm wax. He still needs to activate the seals properly. He's surprised that the guardian allowed George in, but relieved.

Weakly, still regaining control as he fumbles to pull thorns out of his hands and arms, Clay slowly drags George to his feet, slinging the other man's arm over the back of his neck— _I can still feel burning where the venom is, this is sickening_ —and began to hobble towards the front door, to bring George inside to the infirmary and make his way down to get the seals himself.

George is not a mage.

He feels almost angry with himself, knowing that the amount of magical energy within even one candle was far too much for someone who had never been exposed to magical tolerance training. He could've KILLED George with that request.

George could've been the next sacrifice thrown at this accursed parasite, and it would've all been Clay's fault. The ashy spot on George's face is more than enough indication that he came terribly close.

It's a long, painful walk to the infirmary, the servants of the palace laying in dazed piles around the halls, some violently stabbing at parasites, others peacefully allowing blobs of the black slime to trail down, dropping to the floor.

It was like a scene out of some legend, collapsed bodies freed from their possession strewn around every corner.

He lays George down in the bed that had been his before, during the days while he recovered from the venom, sighing, and nearly trips as he gropes at the panel on the wall, eventually dragging his fingers over the mechanism.

He doesn't bother with a light, going down, down, down further, into the depths of the palace, far below even the bowels of the massive building. Not that they had a dungeon— prisoners are kept far away from the royal family.

He approaches the guardian, bleary eyes looking at the golden dragon statuette that coils around the middle of the door.

"It's Clay," he says aloud before it can ask, "I need the seals."

He waits, and is let in. The figure floats over as the door closes, looking over him with intrigue.

"Clay," they murmur, "you are not physically fit to be moving around right now."

Clay waves off their words,

"Respectfully, now is not the time. I need to seals, sire." The being chuckles in amusement at the honorific, and hands over another candle, green to match the magic both they and Clay use.

"What's so funny?" Clay asks wearily, and the being replies airily,

"Oh, nothing much. You'll understand when you join us properly."

Clay huffs slightly, and trots away, leaving the being to the millions of scrolls and books around them. They rarely stop writing, he knows, and are wise— but their cryptic nature irritates him on a level that proves their points about him still being 'mortal, youthful, and emotional.'

He makes his way to the front of the palace, and holds the candle in both hands, focusing. The fabric of the world bends and flows around him, mana whispering enticingly as he submerges himself into the flow of magic.

-

George slowly comes to for a brief moment, his face aching and almost feeling singed.

He reaches up, brushing hands over the area, ash coming away on his fingertips as he does.

He tries to roll over, and something stabs between his shoulders, a stinging, itching sensation flooding his back. He shrieks, swatting his back as though to kill a mosquito. But all he feels is gossamer catching on his fingers.

The pain in his back feels invasive— he panics, almost certain he can feel something _moving_ under his skin for a moment as he digs his fingers into the flesh around the stinging spot. But it's gone soon, and he collapses back into unconsciousness, his body weakened from the magic still.

-

Clay's back stings, and he flinches, but releases the evocation, blanketing the lands he calls his own, his home, in magic.

He can see the green wave travel out, his eyes squeezing shut but not preventing the white after image behind his lids.

The candle is vaporized by the magic that he forces through it. George couldn't do that. He could only trigger a pre-set spell to freeze the parasite temporarily.

Clay's bitterness over his beloved soulmate being put in that situation leaves a stale, almost sour, taste in his mouth as he bites his cheek.

  
He whirls back around, stumbling into the castle and ordering a servant who's leaning on the doorframe,

"You there. Could you please gather the other servants of the palace and tell them they're all to go home and rest? I don't wish for them to believe they're supposed to continue working right now." The servant, seemingly a kitchen assistant, nods and scampers off, seemingly recovering quite well.

He sees a nurse already bent over George when he enters the infirmary, and she jumps, turning to look at him almost guiltily.

"Sire, I—"

"No need to explain or apologize," he says wearily, "How is he?"

She fidgets with the hem of her shirt.

"...He's greatly weakened by magical means, but seems untouched by the parasite." Clay nods, satisfied with the answer, and she reaches for his arm, namely the thorn in it, but hesitates. "May I?..."

He laughs bitterly, and settles down,

"You're a nurse miss. It's your job. I'm sending all the servants home soon, you all need your rest. It won't be the death of me to manage on my own for a night." She nods, relief in her gaze, and begins to gently remove the thorns from him, checking each puncture and concluding they're mostly superficial injuries. Clay is almost too exhausted to care that he's not wearing his mask by now, just wanting this to be over.

He pulls off his shirt for her, allowing her to apply a salve of some kind to the hundreds of tiny purple pinpricks where the parasite had latched into him. He listens to her explain what it does, only partially registering something about helping heal his skin and extract the venom.

  
Thusly, he's unprepared for the wave of burning in his back and shoulders when the salve touches the pinpricks. He shrieks half of a curse word, flinching a bit. The nurse apologizes profusely, and continues more gently, not really having much of a different effect on him. 

Eventually though, the burning subsides and she sighs.

"That should do, sire. You may put your shirt on if you wish. Your friend should be alright as long as you keep him from exerting himself too much— and away from magic. His whole body was almost burned by the spell he used." Clay's guilt twists in his gut, and he looks over at the sleeping man, at his now clean face, as pale as a porcelain doll and just as perfect in Clay's eyes.

He made George do that. His negligence on the purge progress had let the parasite back in, and although he had handled this outbreak quickly, he had only been able to do so thanks to almost risking sacrificing George.

  
He resolves now to not keep George here any longer.

_He needs to see the sun, to see his world again. As soon as we're fit to travel we're leaving. We'll even meet up with his friends if we can.  
_ _I shouldn't keep him here in this palace, this cage. I can leave my chief advisor in control; I know he's faithful, and besides— I know his name. This is an important undertaking regardless seeing as that boy is a descendant of Seventh. Or at the very least, a fairly powerful mage in his own right— and there's no telling what the Nether would do if they harnessed his magic, or even what could happen if they broke him down enough for his magic to unleash itself on the world unrestrained._

  
He flexes his hand, still feeling the heat of the candle being vaporized against his palm. Mages are more than magic users; they're a barrier. They harness magic and use it, certainly, but they also form a dam between the raging currents of mana in the world and innocent people who couldn't handle the touch of such energy.

  
And if a powerful mage was to be broken, his control over his magic snapped...

Clay's hand snaps shut around the air, unconsciously.

 _That would be a torrent of mana unleashed on unwitting non mages. It's happened every time they've had a mage in past years; storms, dragons leaving their lairs to raze towns, even phantoms in our world._ He stares out the window at the circling creatures. He knows they'll be handled quickly, they're only confused batlike creatures now that the parasite has been shut down.  
After all, they probably brought the blob through once again, and that's why they're here. He assumes this is the reason; if not, it might be the harbinger of something much more sinister.

The awakening of things nobody wanted to tell legends of. The things that were erased even from the darkest myths.

Shivering from the thoughts, Clay lays next to George after the nurse left, cradling his lover in his arms and sighing softly. _Things are now disrupted but they won't remain in this pandemonium for long..._

George whimpers softly and squirms in his grasp, and Clay whispers to him,

"I'm sorry George. I'm sorry for everything that's happened, my love."  
  
 _I'm sorry for not helping how and when I should've._


	30. Chapter 30

Tubbo is already far ahead of Skeppy, his boots thumping against the road as he pushes past the late-night stragglers and people making their way to taverns and bars. The city has already almost shut down for the night, lights in houses extinguished and silence falling upon the usually bustling streets.

Skeppy finally catches up to Tubbo in the city square— or one of them, he supposes —as the boy searches the area for their animal companion.

"Tubbo, don't leave me behind like that," he reprimands, a bit nervously, "You could've gotten hurt or lost me." Tubbo shrugs, and apologizes quietly as he continues to search for the fox. Skeppy takes in the area, registering it fully as he inspects it for any sign of Fundy.

"There—" He points to a small bundle of orange fur curled up on a circle of glowing runes, a contented look on the fox's face as he watches the two, almost expectantly. Tubbo jogs over excitedly, only pausing for a brief second to run his gaze over the runes.

"A teleportation circle..." He remarks quietly, "I remember taking one of these when Phil brought us here. It might've even been this one." Skeppy catches up again, standing next to Tubbo protectively as the boy squats down to coax the fox into his arms.

There's a moment where Skeppy sees the runes flash brighter, glowing orange, but he doesn't have time to realize what it means.

Everything next happens so fast that Skeppy can't make heads or tails of it; just a shriek, and a dizzy, motion blurred image of somewhere different as he plummets through and lands on stone, wincing as his tailbone collides with the ground.

Tubbo hadn't shrieked, Skeppy realizes with no small amount of embarrassment. He looks up at Tubbo, who seems dizzy but otherwise unfazed by their sudden teleportation. The shriek had come from his own mouth.

And the fox is dashing away again.

  
"Shit," the hunter groans, pulling himself up from the ground as Tubbo points to the alley the fox has dashed into, telling Skeppy,

"We can't lose 'im! Down there, quick!"

But his words fall on deaf ears as Skeppy stares at the place they stand now, hearing nothing except his own overwhelmingly loud thoughts.

They're standing in a quaint square, a fountain trickling a steady stream in the middle...and Fundy has dashed down an alley flanked by boxes of wildflowers. _Foxglove._

Skeppy has seen this place before.  
 _This is it, isn't it? The fountain is working but it's the same place as that dream I had._

  
Tubbo tugs on him insistently.

"Come on!" He shakes his head as his friend's words pull him out of his shocked stupor, and he nods in response.

They begin to jog after the fox, finding him scratching at a door, his fur fluffed up and his ears flattened. Skeppy exhales in relief when he realizes it isn't the blue door of his dream. He kneels next to the fox, murmuring,

"Hey buddy, calm down. What's wrong, Fundy?" The fox snarls, baring fangs in agitation, and dives into a pot, delicate paws sifting through the dirt with intent.

Soon, the fox leans into the pot, pulling back with a key held in his mouth. He spits it at Skeppy's feet, staring at him expectantly, and Tubbo takes it.

"He wants us to open this door?" Skeppy questions. "Isn't this like...breaking and entering?" Tubbo shrugs.

"We can tell em the truth if things get weird, or well, weirder," he reassures Skeppy, and before the hunter can stop him, he's inserted the key into the door and pushed it open tentatively.

The fox barrels into the house, vanishing into the darkness— Skeppy thinks he heads up the stairs.

Tubbo whispers something, generating a small werelight that hangs around his fingertips as he holds his hand aloft, shedding dim golden light over the empty house.  
This place is definitely empty, Skeppy realizes; there's no shoes in the entry, dust on all the surfaces around them, and as he pushes the door ajar behind them, nobody comes forth accusingly to ask why they've used what's clearly a spare key to enter a complete stranger's home.

He wipes his boots clean, and takes a few steps in, hearing Fundy whining and the sound of scratching. Following up the stairs where he's pretty sure he saw the fox go, Tubbo trailing behind him with the light, he hears the sounds grow louder until they find the fox once again, now pawing at a door. 

Deciding they've come too far to just pick up the fox and go (and he'd by lying if he said he didn't think this was incredibly odd and uncanny, down to the details of the square) Skeppy opens the door.  
It's someone's bedroom, but like the rest of the house it's clearly not been inhabited for a while— a week or two, possibly. He can't tell for sure. But the fox is now docile, staring at them as though he's waiting for them to do something.

  
"Why did you bring us here?" Skeppy murmurs to the animal, who stares back wordlessly. He looks away, searching for whatever he's supposed to be finding, in a stranger's bedroom.

Tubbo is the one to dart forward, plucking a framed photo off the dresser, wrinkling his nose as he inhales some dust by mistake.

"Look!" He turns it to face Skeppy, "Is this the owner of this place, you think?" He says something else, but the overwhelming sensation of déjà vu slams Skeppy, plunging him into a soundless moment as he studies the photo.

  
The young man in the photo. The soft looking brown hair, delicate features, and mournful brown eyes. Skeppy's gaze drifts to the fox, staring at him expectantly.

"You—" he chokes out, pointing at the fox, "You _knew?_ You were the one who caused that?" The fox's lip curls up in what could almost be seen as a smirk, and he lets out a chuff. Skeppy grinds his teeth.

_I'm being mocked by a fox._

The thought makes him pause and reconsider. Tubbo looks at him, confused.

"Skeppy, what do you mean? What do you mean by 'you knew'? And what did Fundy cause?" Skeppy shakes his head, dismissing him.

"I'll explain once I get to the bottom of this." He says, and kneels down to the fox's level. "Alright you," the vulpine wags his tail, "where's that door? You know the one. Show me." Fundy stretches, and saunters down the stairs, leading the two out to the door again. Tubbo bites his cheek slightly, and mumbles,

"How long have we been gone? I bet they're worried about us..." Skeppy barely hears him, determined to get to the bottom of this now.

  
The dreams kept coming back, and he always woke up before the door could be opened. Always. _Always_. Now the fox leads him to this place and shows him the man from his dream?

  
He follows in Fundy's footsteps as he's led down the alley to the blue door. His fingers twitch, and he reaches to knock, glancing down at his guide, who merely stares back as though amused.  
He rolls his eyes and knocks on the door sharply. Tubbo looks at him, aghast.

"Have you gone mental?" He queries, and Skeppy shrugs. "It's at least midnight and you're just—"

"You're the one who opened the other door," Skeppy cuts him off, hearing motion somewhere behind the door, "I've been dreaming about this place and about that guy for like, a good while. I just— -look, I need to know what—"

The door opens, and a young man peers around it, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. Skeppy runs a cursory glance over him; light skin that's somewhere between his own and Tubbo's, almond shaped eyes that look at him with clear exasperation, and black hair that falls into his face despite the hat holding it back slightly.

"What kind of basket case do I have the pleasure of meeting tonight?" He asks, almost pleasantly if it weren't for the fact that he was clearly irritated by this disruption. Fundy sits up, and yaps at him sharply. The young man looks down at their companion, and Skeppy replies dryly,

"The kind that breaks and enters at the request of a fox. Do you know Fundy or something?" A look of realization had already been dawning on his face as Skeppy spoke, but the fox's name seems to be familiar to him.

Tubbo watches as he opens the door wide and kneels down, offering a hand to Fundy.

"Is—" he sounds sheepish and yet relieved as he addresses the fox, "Is that you? Really?" As one might expect, the fox bites him, and then glares at him reproachfully. The man laughs weakly, and apologizes softly, "I'm sorry, I deserve that. Could you two hang on a second? I've got an apology to make and catching up to do."

  
And like that he ushers the fox inside, leaving Skeppy and Tubbo on the doorstep, looking at each other with equal amounts of confusion and amusement.

"Did?...did we just get left on a doorstep while a fox got taken inside??" Skeppy questions, and Tubbo nods.

"I think we did," he replies, a disbelieving laugh escaping him.

  
They sit down, and wait for several minutes. Skeppy strains, but can't hear anything. Eventually, the door opens and the man beckons them inside.

"I'm sorry," he doesn't sound particularly sorry, Skeppy thinks dryly, "Come in. I can't entertain you for long, but now that I've done that, you and your friend should probably get the story since you seem to have been in the dark."

"No shit," Skeppy replies, stepping inside with a dry chuckle. They leave their boots at the door as introductions are exchanged.

"My name's Quackity," the young man offers, "Or Big Q. Yours?"

"Skeppy." Skeppy resists the urge to quack at this revelation, grinning with barely suppressed mischief.

"Tubbo, it's nice to meet you," Tubbo replies. Quackity gestures to the living room.

"I'll let him explain things once you guys properly introduce yourselves," he tells them, and though Tubbo wrinkles his face in bafflement, they follow to the couch, where (this time to both of their surprise) the young man from the picture and Skeppy's dreams sits, looking weary but amused as he grins at them.

"You!—" Skeppy bursts out before he can contain it, and the man answers,

"Hell yeah, me."

Tubbo tilts his head, looking between them,

"Do you know each other?" He wonders, and the man shakes his head.

"Not exactly, Tubbo," he answers, "I guess I know you guys but you don't know me. Let me explain, alright?" Skeppy settles into a chair, eyeing him suspiciously, while Tubbo plunks onto the floor, staring at the mysterious man.

"Since it's only fair," he begins, "My proper Name is Floris. But you guys already met me as Fundy." Skeppy draws the parallels in one sharp, jerking motion mentally, and stiffens as Fundy, Floris, continues, "And you might've guessed, but I'm a shifter like that guy Ant. However, thanks to my friend here," he elbows Quackity, who flinches and grins, "deciding to prank me, I was in a bit of trouble. He ordered me to stay as a fox, and because of some loud noises and my own confusion, I got extremely turned around and ended up running into Tubbo and Tommy."

The picture seems to be coming together for Tubbo, who nods, but pauses, asking,

"Wait, that all makes sense but how come I knew to call you Fundy?" Fundy shrugs.

"That first night, I tried to mess with your dreams and see if I could send an SOS or something like that, but I guess all you got was my name, and then I couldn't do anything else. Skeppy got a lot more than that, probably since he let me pull him into my own dreamscape and all. Thanks for not punting me, Skeppy." His ending words are a bit wry, and Skeppy groans, recalling how he had jumped awake each night and threw the fox off his chest.

"You mean to say we've been being watched all this time by some guy we didn't know anything about??" He asks, and Fundy laughs nervously.

"Well in a way that's the short of it. I didn't think of things much as a fox, so you're mostly safe. Look though," he leans forward, gaze solemn, "Now that I'm able to shift freely, I'm still coming with you. I want to help."

Skeppy's confusion must have shown on his face, because Fundy clarifies,

"Mostly with finding Philza and Wilbur, but I'm not going to pass up the chance to piss off the Nether either. Plus your boyfriend seemed really wrecked in those dreams, so the least I can do is lend a paw." He twitches fox ears playfully, and Skeppy flinches.

"You saw _my_ dreams?" The information is unwelcome, and Fundy blinks.

"You didn't invite me in? Your dreams are really loud, didn't someone train you to use your abilities right?" Skeppy shakes his head, confused, and Fundy continues, "Well, you left the door really open on your dreams so I did see them. I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was trespassing. I thought you wanted a buddy for the whole astral traveling shtick in case something attacked you."

_Astral travel? Attack?_

"You can astral travel?" Tubbo echoes the question, looking up at Skeppy, who shakes his head.

"No, I've never done that! I've only done the whole soulmate soul projection dreams and dreamt of my friend because I know his name." Fundy grimaces, and Quackity quietly asks,

"You guys gonna get out of my house any time before two in the morning?"

With that reminder, the three sheepishly hop up and Fundy leads them back to the house they 'broke and entered'— he informs them with amusement that it's in fact _his_ house, unsurprisingly.

"Skeppy," he informs him, gathering some of his belongings and a bag, "I think I should discuss that once we get back to Eret's. I should _really_ introduce myself to the man properly, he nearly put me in a cat bed." As the shock of finding out about Fundy's identity fades, the other two establish easy banter with him. Unlike in the photo and in Skeppy's dreams, he seems to prefer keeping his ears and tail when in humanoid form, and they flick and wag in sync with his statements.

  
"A cat bed? Is that why you freaked out and ran off and teleported us?" Tubbo laughs, and Fundy shrugs sheepishly.

"A little? But I also recognized the city and figured I should try to get back to normal as soon as possible. I'll stay a fox most of the time, don't worry. It's more comfortable than a human." He finishes packing, and ushers them out, locking the door. "Let's get back. As fun as running around at night and freaking out people is, Tommy will start a revolt if he gets too worried about you."

  
Tubbo nods in agreement, and Skeppy shudders at the thought. They walk back to the circle, no conversation taking place, and Fundy explains briefly,

"By the way, I think the reason I could use the circle and dream stuff and not anything else was they're sort of like...non vocal magic. You do them in your mind." Skeppy nods, watching as the man shifts back into being the familiar fox with a poof, the runes flashing around them; this time, Skeppy stays firmly on his feet. Like before, Fundy rockets away, Tubbo in hot pursuit and Skeppy sprinting after them, exhaustion nagging at him by now.

  
As they knock on Eret's door and let themselves in, Sapnap peeps down from the upper floor, warning them,

"Tommy is—"

His warning is fruitless, as Tommy bursts out of a closet and hugs Tubbo with a loud "BOO!" Skeppy has his dagger half drawn before he calms down, and Fundy is bristling, shaking his head as though the noise was much harsher on his ears.

They take off their boots, and Tubbo warns,

"We have stuff to talk about, Tommy— like, a big thing!" Fundy trots over and settles in one of the chairs, now with a much more human air of smugness as he watches the others make their way in to sit down.

"So— don't shriek or anything, but Fundy isn't a fox." Tubbo dives into it, and all three—Sapnap, Tommy, and Eret—seem confused, though they respectively stay silent, scoff, and raise an eyebrow at him. "No, really! Fundy?"

The shifter changes shape, now sitting with his leg resting over his knee as he waves at the others.

"It's a long story, wanna sit tight for the info dump or just get the short of it?"

"Is yer name _really_ Fundy?" Tommy asks, ignoring the question. When the shifter nods, Tommy chortles. "Ye could've picked anything and what ya picked is _FUNDEH_."

  
Skeppy cringes.

"I know you didn't just pronounce it that way." Fundy seems amused, and retorts,

"At least my name isn't _Tommy_. So, shall I begin?" Eret nods, eyeing him with intrigue.

"Please do, Fundy."

  
Fundy begins to outline what he had told them earlier, the information consistent. Skeppy can't see a reason he'd be lying, and he's only been helpful even as a fox. No motivations spring to mind, despite Skeppy's naturally skeptical nature and distrust of many people.

_He genuinely just...seems like he's a good guy in a stupid fucking situation._

"So why did you step on me while I was sleeping?" Sapnap asks dryly, and Fundy shrugs. Tommy interjects with a cackle,

"Ye stepped on his tail! I bet he tried to sack you for it and that's why!" Even Sapnap seems to see what Skeppy sees, the high-strung warrior still clearly somewhat untrusting of Fundy but not accusatory.

Their banter and discussion continues, until finally Sapnap asks quietly,

"By any chance do you also remember my Name?" Fundy shrugs.

"Yeah. In an act of transparency for you, my Name is Floris. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, really, but fox ears are really good."

The two meet eyes for a moment, and Sapnap offers his hand to Fundy. They shake, and Sapnap mutters,

"You seem like a decent fellow. Even if you're super fucking suspicious, no offense."

"None taken. If you didn't think I was suspicious, I'd think you were a fool," Fundy admits, "But I'll prove myself to you if you need me to! Wait and see."

  
Tommy yawns, bringing the thoughts of sleep back to mind for everyone as first Skeppy, then Eret, Tubbo, and Sapnap follow suit, some stretching as they yawn. Fundy shifts back into his fox form with his yawn, curling into a small ball on the chair with his nose tucked under his tail. They realize he's already asleep, and decide not to rouse him.

Eret stumbles up the stairs (oddly graceful for someone who's clearly extremely exhausted) and points to two rooms down the hall from one that they can tell belongs to him.

  
Wordlessly, they divide into pairs, Skeppy and Sapnap taking one room while Tommy and Tubbo take the other.

There's two beds, separate, and Skeppy hums for a second before pushing them together. Sapnap raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment.

It's not like he objects to being close to someone.

Skeppy feels like safety to him, he realizes with an embarrassed flush as he changes into pajamas. Despite everything, he still felt safe with him. Skeppy stretches and laughs softly,

"Man, I missed pjs." He flops down onto the bed, sprawling out comfortably. Sapnap tentatively settles down, the softness of an _actual mattress_ almost too much for him after his travel.

They face each other on their sides, quietly talking about various things, from Fundy to Sapnap's plan for storming the fortress.

  
Eventually Skeppy admits, his tone soft as tiredness settles over his mind,

"I don't think that Bad can hang in there much longer, Sap. He's just— he's wrecked, last time I saw him. I think his arm was broken." Sapnap laces his fingers with Skeppy's, squeezing the other's hand reassuringly.

"We're going to get him out of there, Skeppy," he reassures, fire in his tone as his eyes (no longer masked, flickering lilac brightly) bore into Skeppy. "I'm not gonna let our mission be for nothing."

Skeppy closes his eyes, blocking out his friend's bright gaze.

"...Nick?" Sapnap flinches at his name, but answers quietly.

"Yeah?"

"...if he gets killed or anything like that...don't stop me, okay?" Sapnap's breath catches in his throat, and he asks tentatively,

"Stop you from...what?" Skeppy sighs.

"...Let me go, if things come to that. I won't be able to keep, going on after that," he explains, and Sapnap grits his teeth for a second, snapping out in a rushed, concerned tone,

"Would you really do that? End yourself? Would that really honor Bad's memory in that situation?" Skeppy's mouth is dry as he watches tears come to Sapnap's eyes. Guilt twists and he glances away. "He'd want you to make as many happy memories as you could, wouldn't he? Isn't he the kind of guy who would want you to just— live on for him? No wait— not like, for _him_ but for his _memory_. I'd want someone I loved like that to keep going, to lead their best life. Wouldn't he want that too?"

  
The choked note of grief in Sapnap's voice tips Skeppy off to his mistake, and he reaches up to gently run his hand through Sapnap's hair, trying to calm the younger man.

"Sapnap I—I'm sorry. I didn't really—"

"You didn't think, you never do," Sapnap retorts with a gasp, swatting him insincerely, "Let's drop it, okay? I'm never going to just lay back and let you do that, though. And your Bad isn't _going_ to die."

 _Your Bad._ Skeppy softens, and pulls Sapnap into a hug, murmuring to him,

"...you're right, I don't think. But Sap?...Thank you."

_You're right in more than one way there. You're right about him._

He can feel Sapnap smiling against his shoulder as they lapse into silence, gradually drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm sorry for how RAPID and ALL OVER THE PLACE these chapters are! But I hope yalls enjoy it :)


	31. Chapter 31

In the morning, Skeppy awakens to Sapnap's leg slung over his knees, the other's arm wrapped firmly around his midsection.

Try as he might, he couldn't wiggle out of the warrior's grasp, and so he docilely settles down, allowing Sapnap to nuzzle against him as he murmurs incoherent words under his breath.  
It's endearing despite how quickly Skeppy finds himself overheated and somewhat stiff from the position his arms and legs are trapped in. The slight smile on his friend's face as he hums and whispers more than enough compensation for the twinges that begin to plague his limbs.

A knock on the door gently draws Skeppy's attention away from his sleeping friend, and he glances up to see Tubbo peering in, a tray in his hands with two plates and cups carefully perched atop it.

"Oh, good," the boy says in clear relief, "You're awake. Here, Eret made everyone breakfast and told me to bring yours up!" Skeppy presses his (barely) free hand to his lips, shushing Tubbo as he nods and gestures to the nightstand.

"I don't want to wake him up," he quietly laughs, "He looks so happy." Tubbo's expression softens as he sees Sapnap's innocent, carefree smile and how he's snuggled up to Skeppy. He places the tray down, and the scent of the food on it makes Skeppy's stomach grumble despite his desire to not wake his friend.

He wonders if Sapnap is dreaming of his soulmate again, and resolves to ask when the other wakes up.

He closes his eyes, leaning into the pillow and allowing himself to drift into a daze, awaiting Sapnap's awakening.

* * *

Tubbo scampers out, down to where Tommy is making eager conversation with Fundy. Eret has left to attend his duties as the leader of his organization, leaving the group to their own devices (foolishly, Tubbo had thought when he realized he and Tommy woke long before any of the adults. Leaving the duo to attend themselves was a recipe for disaster in his experience.)

He did have to wonder if his uncomfortable feeling upon waking was due to Tommy practically crushing him or from Philza possibly attempting to send a message. It's not like he could particularly differentiate at this point; Phil hadn't managed to teach him dream-based magic before they were separated. Not to mention Tubbo was sure that Philza had more connection to death element magic.

He joins the cheerful chatter, enjoying his food as Fundy ravenously consumed a plate of his own; the shifter seems relieved to be able to eat human food once more without any ill result.

"I tried to eat some jerky once," he had told them, "My whole mouth was stinging for hours and I swallowed the piece practically whole. Foxes are not good at chewing hard foods apparently."

Despite the initial suspicion, Fundy still seems to be the same cheerful person that the fox had implied, playful and mischievous, enjoying a good prank now and then. He doesn't seem to harbor any ill will towards Quackity either, and Tubbo had felt surprised learning that; and relieved that he didn't have a Name to be exploited. He can imagine the disaster that would result in easily.

* * *

Skeppy doesn't know when he fell back asleep, but he's aware he's asleep when he smells the regretfully familiar scent of brimstone, ash, and what he can only assume is the scent left by previous prisoners.

He can see a piglin dart into the cell where Bad is being held now, and feed the captive healer a small meal, bit by bit, and then helping him drink a bottle of water. Skeppy would like to ignore the rest of the situation, how humiliating it must be for Bad, but he can't help the flash of white-hot rage that burns through him when he registers it.

  
When the guard is gone, though...

Bad waits, as though patiently anticipating his next torture session, and small sparks of light travel over his body, sealing shut scrapes and burns and cuts. It cements the fact that he's definitely a mage.  
  
Skeppy noticed somewhat in his mind that the other's arm was no longer broken, but now that fact surfaces more distinctly as he gets closer, brushing his fingers over the unbroken skin, the only sign of anything ever having happened to it being a small scar.  
 _Just like the one that had been left after George cut him that time,_ Skeppy realizes, noticing Bad cringe slightly, looking up in bewilderment.

Skeppy pulls his hand away, reaching over to ruffle Bad's hair gently, noticing that the other reacts to this as well.

_How strange..._

A trickle of icy cold runs down Skeppy's back, as though someone poured ice water down his shirt, and he pulls his hand away to look behind him—

* * *

Skeppy jerks awake, his whole body recoiling from a nonexistent entity, a shriek tearing free from his throat, Sapnap flinching back and covering his ears.

Skeppy takes a breath, trembling and becoming aware that he's drenched in sweat and suddenly exhausted, and that Sapnap is now leaned over him as though he had been trying to wake him up.

"I— Sorry," he apologizes to the raven-haired man gently, noticing how the other seems distressed for him, "I..." At a loss for words to describe exactly what had woken him, he leans up to gently stroke Sapnap's hair, reassuring him.

Sapnap slowly takes his hands off his ears, and Tubbo, Tommy, and Fundy all crash in, a chorus of voices asking variations of "what's wrong" and "what happened" over each other as Skeppy flinches slightly.

"I had a nightmare," he explains with a grin, a very very forced grin. _That was more than a nightmare._ "And I scared Sapnap. I'm sorry for worrying you guys."

Tubbo seems the most unconvinced of the three, but it's Fundy who asks,

"A nightmare, or an encounter on your travels?" Skeppy freezes up, unable once again to describe his waking circumstances.

_A pair of luminous green eyes bore into him, and as though their very gaze is acidic, his skin begins to burn..._

"...yeah, you could say that," he murmurs, the memory still too fresh to _not_ shake him. "Give me a while and then I'll explain it. Let me make sure Sapnap didn't get punched by me or anything and then I'll be downstairs, alright?"

Tommy is the one to register the dismissal, and he tugs on Tubbo, Fundy trailing after the two as they leave. Even now that he's regained his human form, the fox shifter seems to still retain the protective instincts he had acquired in his travels with the pair.

  
Once he's sure they're out of earshot, Skeppy sits up, and cups Sapnap's cheeks, worried as the young man shudders, still shaking from whatever had happened or that he had seen.

"Nick," Skeppy murmurs, "can you tell me what you saw? What happened before I woke up?" The request causes Sapnap to burst into tears, his trembling intensifying as Skeppy hurriedly runs his fingers through his hair, hugging him gently, murmuring, "Hey, it's gonna be okay. I'm alright, Sapnap. Please, I need to know..."

It takes several minutes for his hysterics to fade, but Sapnap eventually draws in a breath and rushes out an explanation of,

"I-I woke up because I felt really, cold all of the sudden and like you had left or something and I realized that you WERE cold—" Skeppy abruptly realizes that yes, his body is icy to the touch, "—And, and, I tried to wake you up but you, you wouldn't answer and suddenly you were, fading like, you were see—through, you were like a gh-ghost and I, I got so so scared—" Skeppy hugs him tighter, feeling his own skin begin to warm back up the longer he contacts Sapnap. The younger hugs back, clinging to him like a child awoken from a nightmare, still crying. "I-I just felt like I was losing you and I couldn't do _anything_ to save you? And it was awful but then you were solid again and you woke up and you looked so _scared_ and I felt awful because I should've been able to help you and if something had happened I would've been the one who failed to help..."

The confession is like a knife stabbed through Skeppy's back, and he tightens his hold on Sapnap, his voice soft and containing a note of honest agony as he softly tells the other,

"I... I do think I nearly died, Nick. I really do think I would've died if you weren't trying to wake me up, that you helped. Whatever I saw, it was...horrible, awful, and it was _so angry_ that I was there, it—" he swallows heavily, his heartbeat picking up even at the memory of it, "—It wanted me dead. I have no doubts there. It wanted me fucking dead where I stood and I would've died if I didn't get woken up. So I think you really did help." His words do equal harm and good— Sapnap's sobbing picks up but now it's faintly relieved as his hands tighten in Skeppy's shirt, tugging on the material as Skeppy continues trying to reassure him, gently rubbing his back as he rests his chin against the crook of Sapnap's neck.

  
It takes them a while to calm down, Skeppy still horribly shaken by the whole event and Sapnap nearly unable to look at Skeppy without the fear of losing him spiking back up. But by the time Tubbo returns to check in, both are calmed down enough that they have the breakfast tray between them, quietly eating their now lukewarm breakfast. Which is good, Tubbo _thinks_. Because surely they wouldn't be able to eat if they were still scared or upset like they were when he came in before, right?

Skeppy glances over to the teen, who waves sheepishly.

"I'm jus' checking in," Tubbo mumbles quickly, and Skeppy slides out of bed, stepping over to hug him gently.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he apologizes again, and Tubbo shrugs slightly, returning the gesture.

"It's not your fault," he affirms, "You looked like hell and Sapnap didn't seem much better." The mentioned man let out a bark of laughter, clearly still shaken. "M just glad you two seem okay now."

  
Skeppy lets go of him, and weakly admits,

"Barely better, but we at least can kinda survive. You know?" Tubbo nods, knowing that feeling all too well. _Not 'good', but you'll be okay._

He tries lightening the mood, and points accusingly at Sapnap and the toast the other is now munching on, like some kind of giant rodent.

"You're getting crumbs everywhere, you, you _giant beaver."_ Tubbo is...pretty sure that's a rodent that could fit the situation, right? Regardless of the accuracy, Sapnap laughs again, this time more easily, and shoves the rest of his toast into his mouth, puffing up his cheeks and playfully replying,

"An now ahm a skurrel!!" Skeppy translates for him,

"He says "and now I'm a squirrel." Sapnap, don't choke you idiot." Sapnap is already gagging on the bread as he speaks, but manages it with a reproachful glare at his friend. Skeppy knows neither of them are as recovered as they seem, but the topic is best left closed until they are.

The sight of Sapnap unabashedly sobbing in his arms was something he had never expected to see, and he never wanted to see it again. Despite the small age gap between them, it reminded Skeppy that Sapnap _is_ younger, just above being a child himself in a way.

Not that he lacked in maturity or experience, but that he's an emotional being, more than he had shown the group before now. Only in flashes had Skeppy seen it, and he somewhat wishes it had stayed that way. Sapnap crying awakened the same protective part inside him as Bad crying, and he doesn't want to dwell on either situation. He just wants Sapnap to be happy, and Bad to be _safe_.

He walks back to the bed, lifting the empty plates onto the tray and picking it up, taking the cups as well.

"Sapnap, do you feel like getting clothes on and heading downstairs yet?" He asks, and Sapnap nods in response to the question. Tubbo brightens, beaming,

"I'll go let them know!" He's out of the room in a flash, and Skeppy pauses, glancing at his friend.

"...hey."

"Yeah?..." Sapnap's standing up now, unbuttoning his shirt to begin changing.

"...my Name's Zak."

Skeppy dashes out of the room after he said it, the trust and vulnerability in the admission almost too much for him to stand.

He had only told George and Bad about his name. His parents, bless their souls, were the only others to know, and Skeppy's sister was gone too soon for her to really know him.

The import of his actions slams him as he dumps their dishes in the sink, still in his pajamas.

_I told him that, just...like that._ Some part of him feels it was rational.

_He knows my Name now._ Some part is terrified.

_...I trust him_. He resolves the turbulence in his gut, remembering how freely Fundy had admitted his Name to the group, even despite it having been used to trap him in his fox body as a joke, by a friend he _trusted_.

_  
I'm paranoid._ But he feels that after all the panic and under all their playful jabs, Sapnap— _Nick_ —is someone he genuinely can trust. Someone he could say that he's...come to care for. Maybe even love, he admits to himself, and heads back up to change.

Sapnap is already down with the others, the statement circling in his head as much as it had for Skeppy, but unlike the hunter, it's because he had never had anyone tell him their name in _that way_. Once or twice school friends had let their names slip, and it was casual. He'd been told names by accident, and it was either sheepish or somewhat anxious, but...

_'My Name's Zak.'_ The wide-eyed vulnerability Skeppy had shown in that moment, the trust in his tone, and how quickly he had run away, as though he was considering—or reconsidering—the impact of his actions. Sapnap wonders just why he had decided to tell him _now_ , after what they had just—

_  
Oh_. He realizes what might have gone on in Skeppy's mind. _If I know his Name, I can order him to wake up, and he won't have a choice, he'll wake up. If that happens again, I can now save him. I have the power to save him._  
A weight lifts off his shoulders slightly, a relieved grin gracing his face as he chats with Tommy about how the other feels (in reference to his injury and how it's feeling after the healer's ministrations the previous day).

Skeppy soon joins them, and the conversation shifts from casual topics to their plan of action from here on, Fundy now contributing his own strategic points; it becomes clear that the shifter is remarkably quick on the uptake and very intelligent. Skeppy feels he's definitely going to be an asset, and despite his faint resentment towards Fundy for the freakish dreams he had given Skeppy, he's grudgingly respectful of him, welcoming him into the group properly.

_Once Eret's done, we plan our next action. If that **thing** is still around Bad, we need to get him out of there fast._


	32. Chapter 32

Bad trembles, his wrists aching in the hold of one of the many brutes who seem to make it their sole responsibility to torture him. His voice is still held in, pure terror preventing him from making any sound, just like before.

He can't even thank Lum for helping him, or ask him to thank Assu for all her assistance. He knows he owes the two piglin his life, undoubtedly. He would be dead from dehydration or starvation if they hadn't helped, and the healing potion that Lum had slipped him was enough to keep him from bleeding out in the next 'session' he was subjected to; he realized he had brought it to him then specifically so he would be saved.

But as he listlessly feels metal bite into his skin, carving wounds that would inevitably heal over the next reprieve, he allows his mind to drift back to the...incident.

He can still feel warm fingers trace the scar from his arm breaking, feel his hair being lovingly touched by invisible hands.

He has felt them before, he's sure; he can remember feeling like he had heard a familiar voice that filled his heart with longing, but also a fiery resolve to make it through everything and get out _alive_.  
  
Skeppy couldn't be here though.

  
He chokes slightly as his breath is knocked out of him, and he tries desperately to regain it before anything else can happen.

The now-familiar burn of a potion trickles down his back, and he hears a voice whisper to him, a voice that sounds like...

_Coals. Ashes, burning branches. It sounds black, like charred remains._ The description comes unbidden into his mind. _It's like fire. It burns, and bites. This is..._

But it changes as soon as he registers its burning cadence, to a smooth voice that reminds him of satin and silk.

"Darryl," it whispers, "Let me help you. Let me show you how to fight back against them." Bad shakes his head ever so slightly.

_I'm not a fighter, I'm a healer,_ he thinks, but he can't make his mouth open or his voice form words. Likely for the best, he thinks wryly as he blacks out from the pain in his body. He can't even seem to scream anymore. 

* * *

_He lays on the ground, surrounded by what he thinks is snow at first— grey, sticky, dry snow. Quickly realizing it's ashes, he sits up and surveys the area._

_  
_ _All he can see are barren hills and charred trees around him, their blackened branches bare of leaves. The ground is coated in ash, inches thick and falling from the sunless sky. He strains his eyes, searching for any cloud or break in the darkened sky, but as far as he can see, this place is locked in a perpetual evening state, the sky filled with clouds of smoke and ash._

_His breaths are short, trying not to inhale the thick, biting air._

_"Darryl, let me out," the voice murmurs, and he turns, searching the source as he stands, brushing ash off him only to rub it into the fabric of his clothes and into his skin. "Let me help you and help me be free of this place. It's horrible here and only you can help me. In exchange I can free you. I can bring you to your loved one. We can both be free."_

_Though it sounds tempting, he clears his throat and rasps out,_

_"This is a place where demons would live." No answer from the mysterious speaker, who he can't seem to spot. "You speak like a demon, and offer what you know is my deepest desires. Who are you? And WHAT are you?"_

_Though he sometimes falsely gives the impression of being naive and a bit clueless, Bad is not stupid. His tone is sharp as he questions the speaker, and he waits for minutes without answer, pulling his scarf over his nose to breathe easier._

_"Show yourself, or I refuse to entertain even the faintest idea of agreeing to anything you speak of. You know my Name and yet seem unable to use its power, so clearly you need my permission. I should at least know who you are."_

_No response once more, and Bad can see a distant spurt of what looks like fire through the haze; but the ground rumbles and he suspects it was a volcano from his surroundings._

_He draws in a deep breath, and narrows his eyes, making out a faint path in the ash, a slight indent where the ash is consistently lower than everywhere else. He sighs and begins to follow it, knowing that as long as he gets no answer, he may as well go somewhere in this 'dream'._

* * *

He awakens to a light touch on his cheek as Lum fumbles, trying to get him to drink again.  
Obligingly, Bad opens his mouth, feeling his chapped lips crack slightly as he does so.

"You smell like wet ashes," the piglin mumbles, distracted, "That's so weird. Did they pour lava on you?" Bad shakes his head as he swallows the potion, and then water. "No? I wonder why you'd smell like that then..."

Bad had quickly learned that the piglin have a very keen sense of smell; and Lum had informed him once that they can actually smell gold. According to him, it smells fresh and 'like a delicious fruit'. The healer suspects it smells somewhat like the scent of a fresh apple, or an orchard. Welcoming and mouth-watering.

But the fact that Lum can smell ashes on Bad tells him something that makes his blood run cold.

That dream truly was no ordinary dream. No ordinary dream would leave scent on him, or...

He rubs his thumb and index finger together as Lum lowers him for a minute so he can stand normally, and he urgently tugs against the manacles, jerking his head up towards his hands. Lum takes a second to get it, but examines his hands once he registers the fright in Bad's green eyes.

Bad's hands are covered in smears of grey ash.

* * *

George squirms uncomfortably as Clay continues to pack. His back is itching and he can't reach it to scratch.

"Dream," he whines, "m'back's itching again. Help? Please?" The prince glances over with a hint of concern.

"Again? It was all red when I finished last time...do you have allergies?" George shakes his head, and Clay steps over, rolling up the other's shirt to gently scratch the itch for him. A sigh of relief escapes George as he leans against the other's hands.

"Do you have bugs in the End?" He asks, "Like mosquitoes or fleas or something?" Clay shrugs.

"Spiders and Endermites, yeah. But nothing else to my knowledge. Do you think a spider bit you?" George shrugs in unconscious mimicry of him.

"Maybe? All I know is that it got all itchy and prickly after I woke up. Maybe it was from the candle?" He can't see the look of guilt in Clay's eyes as he says that, but the guilt shows in his voice as he replies,

"It's...not _impossible_ for that to have happened. Many people who aren't mages have something akin to an allergic reaction when being used as conduits for spells like that." George murmurs his satisfaction and Clay rolls his shirt back down. "...I'm sorry for that," he apologizes for around the fourteenth time since the _incident_. George twists around to face his lover.

"Dream," he says softly, "You're alright. I know you didn't think it would play out like that, or that you would end up like that. And hey! I've been exposed to Bad's magic before, I'm sure, so I had no reason to think it would do anything like that."

'Like that' refers to the dark starburst of skin on his face, starting under his right eye and ending halfway down his cheek, not reaching his nose or jaw; but one point does extend around to just short of his ear. Despite his best attempts, Clay can't seem to remove it, and one of the palace scholars who was summoned, a magic specialist, had told them it was a natural marking from his exposure, that it would likely be permanent.  
The knowledge that his laxness and lapse in vigilance regarding the parasite has permanently marked George causes Clay no small amount of distress, but the human seems to not mind it. 'It's kind of pretty, and it's just a weird blue mark,' he had said, and Clay didn't have the heart to tell him that it was actually light purple. Blue _is_ George's favorite color, after all...

He returns to packing their supplies for the trip to the Overworld. He had used scrying to pinpoint who he was _fairly_ sure was Skeppy; George had poorly sketched out the man and described him in the best detail he could, including things that would help him stand out from similar people, such as his unique scars and clothing color preferences.

He had felt an uneasy sensation upon locating him however; a being who had great animosity for...everything, it felt. Such burning hatred that Clay had flinched away from his disk he was using, nearly dropping it as though it was hot. And then it was cold, the hatred-filled being banished in a second.  
  
The shift had thrown him for a moment; he seemed to change position greatly, going from where he had been certain was the Nether to a city in the Overworld. But after a moment, the answer seemed clear.

He had asked the scholar about it and he agreed it was likely due to astral travel; after all, scrying a person usually locates their soul more than their body, and if he had been traveling in his sleep, it would account for the seeming teleportation.

But he hadn't brought it up to George, keeping any worry over the mystery of Skeppy's apparent astral journey and the awful being he had seemingly brushed with to himself.

What further supported that he was doing it in his sleep was how the disk only began to shimmer and show an image of a young man in bed with someone once the being's presence vanished.

Clay glances at George as the man wiggles again, now standing up and walking around as though to ignore the itch instead of asking for help again.

Clay's sure they'll be able to reach the city in due time. He just worries about George; the way the other teeters as he walks around their room on unsteady legs only concerns him further as the weakness from the magical mishap seems to linger for George, longer than it should. If he didn't feel it was necessary to leave the End as soon as he was able to, and _safer_ , as he needed to restock on the materials needed for the seals regardless and the parasite was usually unable to keep a complete hold over hosts in the Overworld, preventing any attempt at regaining control over Clay. Or gaining control over George.

Somewhere deep down, Clay fears the parasite. The lack of control over his own body and thoughts sends cold horror flooding his body, adrenaline coursing through him at even the mere memory of being controlled. He's sure that he, and many others, have been traumatized by the experience, but he can't dwell on it. He needs to lead.

He needs to take care of his people, who he's already failed many times before over his rulership. He can't just...step down.

Clay is the prince of the End, and it's his birthright, a cursed inheritance or not.

This is his duty as the prince, and if it means shouldering fear and suffering the trauma in silence, he would do it for the sake of his people. For the sake of the many who depend on him as a leader, as a protector.

He wouldn't fail them again.

And he wouldn't fail George either.


	33. Chapter 33

Skeppy swivels in his seat when he hears the footsteps in the back room, expectantly looking over the back of his chair like a child waiting for their parent.

However the person who emerges first from the back room, dusting himself off, is a blond man with dark eyes and a red sweater. He blinks sheepishly at the group, and turns as Eret emerges as well, thanking him in a refined voice,

"Thank you Eret. I'll be sure to be ready next time you need my advice." Eret smiles warmly at him, shakes his hand, and gently ushers him to the door.

"No, thank _you_ ," Skeppy hears Eret reply, "Your assistance has proved invaluable, Grian. I'll be sure to show you the final result of our project, when it's ready to be shown."

With those words, the door closes, the man now making his way out into the streets as Eret settles down in into a chair, blinking at the group.

"It's time to discuss our next move, then?" He inquires, and Skeppy nods.

"And I have a plan for it too. Now, do you have any maps of the Berlmang mountain range?" Eret's nod is now curious as he raises an eyebrow.

"I do indeed. You're searching for the embassy, yes?"

"I am. Once we get there, we should find the required maps to lead to the place we are searching for— I'm hoping it's labeled appropriately or we might have an issue. But regardless." Skeppy leans forward, and Tommy interjects,

"Actually! Oi, Eret. Have you heard any news of Philza or Wilbur? Wilbur, uh, Soot." He seems uncertain on the name, but Eret seems to recognize it. He shakes his head uncertainly.

"The last I had heard of them was that they and two others had been exiled from the lands of Technoblade. Why?" Tubbo cringes, and Tommy rubs the back of his neck, looking away slightly.

"Well, uh, we 'ave a _personal interest_ in findin' em, ya know?" His accent thickens as he begins to mumble, "Ye see it's, we aren't really the best at findin' lost things or, uh, lost people—" Tubbo puts a hand on his shoulder, and informs Eret calmly,

"Mister Eret, sir, we're the two who were exiled with them. We want to find them because they're sorta our family, y'know? Well, adopted and that lot, but family regardless." Eret makes a soft sound of comprehension, and glances to Skeppy, Fundy, and Sapnap as he replies cautiously,

"Well, I have not heard that much about them since their exile, but I can send out a request for any information. If any of my men should come to encounter them, who is looking for them _exactly?"_

"Tubbo, and Tommy," Tubbo replies without hesitation, "If ye can get a message through to them, tell them we'll meet them in this city!" Skeppy glances at Sapnap, and then cuts in,

"Yes, you two will. Because I'm not bringing you to the Nether, regardless of if you were born there or not."

Immediately there's a chorus of protests from the two,

"Eh!! Why would you leave us?"

"Skeppy, you taught us how to fight!"

"Let me kick their asses, fucker!"

"We can help you navigate!"

Skeppy holds a hand up, and tries to calm them down,

"Look, I wouldn't want to put you two into harm's way. Even if you're both fairly capable fighters, I wouldn't want to risk you being hurt or killed, especially since you don't even know where your family is and you want to find them. Imagine how sad they'll be if you were to die in combat—" He can see their expressions change, and winces as he sees the somewhat guilty look in Tubbo's eyes and the fiery indignation and resistance in Tommy's.

"You think I'd let some random kill me?? I'm too good to let that happen to me!" Tubbo's expression looks almost hollow at that statement, and he grabs Tommy's sleeve, tugging a few times before the blond turns to face him.

Tubbo whispers something to him, and Fundy's ears prick up unconsciously before he folds them guiltily.  
Skeppy glances at Sapnap questioningly, and Sapnap shrugs slightly, not knowing what the boys were talking about.

Tommy's expression changes quickly though; to first an anxious look, then a flash of pure anger as though provoked by what was said by Tubbo, and then to a similar hollow look to Tubbo's as he protectively hugs his friend.

"...yeah," he says after a few minutes, quiet but now audible, "Okay Tubbo. But...only because of that. I don't want anything like it to ever happen to you again." Fundy tugs on his ears, almost like he's trying to unhear the thing he had accidentally heard. Sapnap hits him on the back playfully,

"Hey, fox ass. Stop looking like a kicked puppy and perk up! It's travel time, and then it's ARSON TIME. So look alive! Not every day you have an extra special excuse to beat up a bunch of random Nether bitches." Fundy grins weakly, sharp canines peeking over his lips as he does so.

"Right, right," he replies, clearly still distracted by the information weighing on him, "Arson! Great! A real joy, to be sure. So how are we going to commit the arson? Or is this an in and out mission where we only kill people in our way?"

Sapnap shrugs,

"Depends, I'd blow the place sky-high once we got loverboy's little prince out if it was up to me. But it's whatever works, we could even try to lead a full-scale revolution and free every slave they've taken, but it would be a long endeavor that takes many more men than we currently have. Y'know?"

"We're saving whoever we possibly can," Skeppy cuts in sharply, "They're people's families. Boyfriends, girlfriends. Husbands, wives. Brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, aunts and uncles. Children. We don't know their stories, they deserve a chance at freedom!"

There's a moment of silence, the two meeting eyes and glaring at each other with silence backing up both arguments, both knowing the other is right to some degree. Skeppy hates to acknowledge it as much as Sapnap does.

_We can't save everyone with our limited military strength, but we should TRY to save as many people as we can because nobody deserves that fate. Not some random child stolen from a village now forgotten, not the prince of a well-established kingdom, not a highwayman snatched on his knightly prowl. Nobody.  
_ Skeppy can still see the burns that marred Bad's skin _before_ they knew he was a mage. They treated him so poorly even before he was revealed as an 'enemy', and he was someone with _special skills_ in their eyes. Skeppy can only barely begin to imagine the horror in the lives of more 'average' captives. He doesn't want to think about it.

Tommy is still holding Tubbo tightly, seemingly unwilling to release him now.  
Tubbo glances at Fundy, seeing the guilty look on the shifter's face and how he keeps tugging his ears down.

"Fundy?" He prompts gently, and he jumps, tail whipping back and forth in agitation. "It's okay if you heard. I know you didn't mean to, you just have really good ears and I...kinda did say it right here."

Fundy sighs in relief softly, and mumbles,

"M'not gonna tell anyone, promise. That's your personal story." Tubbo's expression softens, and he smiles sweetly at Fundy.

"Oh good, if you did I'd have a new fox fur blanket," he replies matter-of-factly, and Fundy visibly begins to puff up, his tail wrapping around his waist. "I'm just pulling your leg! Don't worry."

Fundy does _not_ look convinced, especially not when Tommy sends a searing look his way. No, if anything, the man looks very certain that he would in fact end up as a blanket if he even let a tiny hint of what he had heard slip.  
Sapnap and Skeppy are now curious, the former tilting his head at the other, a small hum of intrigue dissolving the tension previously formed between them over their differing battle plans.

"...that aside," Skeppy murmurs quietly, "Look, I get what you mean Sap. We can't save everyone at our current strength. But we should try to get as many as possible out, either by killing the guards and releasing them, telling them to run to a predetermined location, or by buying off the guards. I've seen Bad bribe a guard with gold before, surely some of them would be willing to let out some humans for the right price. And one of them was helping him, they can't always be as corrupt as they seem."

Sapnap nods slowly, seemingly contemplating the compromise, and he gently shakes his hand.

"You have a plan, Skep," he says quietly, an appreciative hint in his voice. "As many as we can, without putting ourselves too at risk...and without putting _Bad_ at risk since he's the whole reason we're going there. Where is he being held?"

"...in the deeper part of the fortress," Skeppy admits reluctantly, "Last I got an idea of where he was, he was near the foundation, if not underground. I think that they like to— like, keep mages underground, away from living things aside from guards. I dunno why but that's just...how I felt."

Sapnap tilts his head at him, and Eret asserts calmly,

"They do. Mages draw their powers from the mana currents in all of the world, coursing through the fabric of all living creatures. Therefore in the Nether, where few subterranean creatures live, the further underground they keep them, the less they're able to tap into the currents, preventing them from using their magic in anything except life-threatening or extremely damaging situations. This is what I know from mages who have been rescued in the past; Skeppy is correct that most piglin are fairly greedy creatures, and with the right price many can be bought off. However, there's a category of warriors who seem to refuse bribery, and they're allegedly called 'brutes'. They're, by most survivors' accounts, larger than most of the others, bulky and they tend to carry axes or maces, in contrast to the standard guard issue swords. These weapons may be made of gold, but _do not underestimate them._ They cut like no gold in our world, and seem to leech your strength even as you bleed. As for others, there's Blazes, which you likely know from common legends, and Wither skeletons. Those are the ones you need to watch out for."

Skeppy leans forward abruptly as though in interest, and Sapnap runs a hand through his hair as he asks,

"Wither? As in— the withering plague? The Wither of myth?" Eret nods.

"These skeletons are supposedly minions of the ancient deathbringer, and used to recreate it. However, the problem is that should they cut you, you'll begin to feel your strength drain, and you'll weaken as though by poison or illness, until they take you down. They're taller and faster than Overworld skeletons, and seem to hate water more than them as well; of course, you cannot bring water easily into the Nether. I hear it can be held in glass bottles or wet rags, but in any sort of metal container it will heat up far too fast and evaporate, seemingly vanishing. And don't even bother pouring it on the ground. It will be gone so fast that you'll doubt it was ever there."

Eret slides his glasses down, revealing blank white eyes that glow dimly. He focuses on Skeppy for a moment, and then continues, ignoring the soft exclamations of surprise from the group (except Sapnap. He seems unsurprised.)

"There's things you'll need to watch out for," he says, voice now distant and almost ethereal, "The elder has reawakened and his voice is calling the healer to take action. If he should succeed, a force of ages past will be unleashed once more on this world and the currents will run uncontrollably throughout the realm of fire, sweeping those who dare to stand in the vessel's way. The archer approaches in company of the mage prince, and the creeping blackness follows in their wake. The archer is oversaturated by a flame, but his life feeds the blackness unbeknownst to them."

He sways, eyes flashing for a second before he replaces the glasses, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"...please...whatever I have said, take it to consideration. My family long has had the gift of, well...you could call it prophecy, but it's far more...specific, than that. So I hope that it will help."

"Whatever you said??" Skeppy asks with a hint of astonishment in his voice, "You— did you really not hear yourself?"

Eret shakes his head.

"The being that speaks through me for my prophecies is...far beyond my own understanding. So I don't know what I told you, but I hope that you can use it in some way."

Sapnap nods, cutting off Skeppy's confusion to tell him,

"Thank you Eret. Rest now, please. I know what that does to you." Eret nods faintly, and stands, making his way upstairs, stumbling. Clearly he was drained by channeling...whatever that was.

Watching Eret leave fills Skeppy with a sense of wariness; far beyond uneasiness, the feeling of something being so very wrong with the man weighs heavily on his shoulders.

Sapnap seems casual about it, and the boys seem equally...unperturbed. The only one who seems to share Skeppy's unease is Fundy, but the shifter still seems more at ease than the hunter.   
After all, he's a shapeshifting mage. Why _would_ he be as unnerved by such a display of magic as someone like Skeppy, who's never been exposed to magic so openly?

"...what the fuck was that all?" He questions eventually, and Sapnap shrugs.

"It'll make sense in the end. Last time he gave me a prophecy it took two years to make sense. And it was about meeting the kids." He gestures to Tommy and Tubbo. "Something about the mage of death, the muse, and the youthful wanderers. But it started to make sense when I met them."

Skeppy swallows. _The mage of death doesn't...sound particularly good.  
_ He can't think of much else to ask, and Fundy saves the conversation by interjecting and beginning to discuss weapons and armor they may need.

  
Skeppy's eyes slide shut and he finds himself drifting.


	34. Chapter 34

Bad's struggling to drag himself onwards through the ash. It keeps piling up and up, clinging to his clothes.

The voice hasn't talked to him again, but he can see the haze slowly beginning to lift ahead of him.  
 _Almost there. Maybe I'll be able to breathe once I get out of the smoke._

He feels someone grab his arm, and turns around for a second, uncertain if it was real.  
He sees nothing. Bad shakes his head and continues walking onwards, deciding that the dream must be getting to him.

The thinning smoke fills his lungs even through his scarf. He's been walking for days in the dream— at least two, for sure. He began with that direction, and eventually there was a light.  
He feels the sensation of a hand on his arm again, and turns faster this time, seeing a brief image of...

"Skeppy?" He utters softly. It was him, certainly; scarred, tanned skin, wide chocolate brown eyes that look up at him with panic, and his disheveled hair.

But he's gone, without a trace.

Bad shakes his head and continues on. This is just another form of torture to him. Just another way that they're trying to break him.  
Pressing forwards to the light, he breaks free of the smoke bank, drawing in a gasp of cleaner air and—

Waking up. He's waking up, and he searches the area in his cell with wide eyes, looking around him nervously.  
The eyes blink at him languidly, and he glares back.

_You know what?? Screw you!_ He would've said it aloud in the moment, but he keeps his mouth shut and waits, seeing movement outside the door.

First Lum peeks in, stepping around the edge of the door, and then another familiar face joins him, a slightly taller, more slender figure...

Bad's expression lights up, and he can feel magic surge through him as he sparks with excitement. Lum puts a finger to his lips, and Assu picks her way over, hooved feet carefully silent against the stone.

"Hello, Darryl," she whispers with a smile, brushing a hand through his hair (she notices ash on her fingers and on Bad's, but doesn't worry about it right now.)

He beams at her, and Lum reminds her,

"He won't talk, hasn't for cycles." Bad winces and nods, but Assu smiles regardless.

"I am not here to just," she pauses, "catch up, sadly. But here is what I need to tell you; I am going to get you out within a...week? Soon. I need you to be ready— you will need to run, but when things begin, Lum—" Bad notes faintly that unlike Lum, she says his name similar to 'Loom'. "—Will let you down and give you a potion. Whatever you do, do not let any of the skeletons see you. Do not let them hurt you or you will be very weakened. Even a tiny cut can cause the withering."

Bad shivers at the memory of the ashen skeleton with its stone sword that radiated evil. He doesn't need further encouragement. Assu waits for him to nod, and Lum interjects,

"She wanted to see you're alive, and intact, you know?" Bad feels a bitter amusement bubble up. He's alive and intact, but for how much longer?

_Well, if it makes her happy._

It seems to. She's very gentle as she hugs him, careful to avoid the clear injuries that have yet to heal. Her touch is almost maternal, and she glances back nervously, before reaching behind her head and seemingly unclasping something, a chain and pendant materializing as Bad watches her. It's a pendant made out of a cream metal, beaten into a disk and set with a stylized heart made of green stone. It flickers in an oddly knowing manner as he stares at it.

"I want you to take this," she says softly, and clasps it around his neck, the pendant warm against his skin. It beats like a disembodied heart, and as she releases it, it feels like it vanishes, the only trace of its presence a white line on his skin that he sees as she traces a finger over it; it matches the line that she herself had before taking off the necklace.

He makes a questioning whimper. Lum reminds Assu,

"We've got to be quick. There isn't much time left." Assu nods, and looks Bad in the eyes, her own pale eyes surrounded by delicate lashes as her expression turns faintly sorrowful.

"That was given to me by a mage. It will allow you one death. One time that you will be brought to the door of death but are able to turn away. It cannot be taken from you by anyone but yourself." Her voice is hushed, clearly divulging a forbidden secret. "He is not able to assist us right now, but I am certain Philza would want you to make it. So please accept it." Bad nods slightly, his unease prickling.

_A pendant of revival? What sort of mage is this Philza?_

Somewhere above them, a thud is heard, and the two piglin tense up. Assu waves once more before they bolt from the cell, the door shutting.  
The eyes, that had watched the whole exchange from a corner, widen and then narrow, almost in pleasure as they shift, approaching. Bad glares at them.

"And you still will not allow me to help?" The voice from his dream, the voice that had offered help during the torture for however long. Bad shudders under its gaze, and he shakes his head. He feels arms wrap around him, feels fingers trace the scars on his ribs. The eyes narrow in clear anger, and the touch vanishes.

Bad knows who it was this time, whose gentle hands caressed him with such regret. He couldn't fathom how, nor why they vanished and appeared when they did, but he'd know their touch anywhere.

_Dark brown eyes filled with regret and desperation lock with his for the instant before they're gone._

Bad sighs softly, closing his eyes.

_Zak_.

* * *

It's late, and you are cold. You didn't think that you'd get this cold.  
  


Your gaze had been locked so intently on the faint golden path littered with clovers of green that you barely noticed your hands shaking.

He did, and covered your hands with his, murmuring,

"It's time to rest. We've caught their trail, we'll find them soon. We can afford to rest now."

Your young charge's magic had resurfaced when you least expected it, when you had almost resigned to their possible demises.  
And where one went, so did the other.  
Your wings twitched nervously, eagerly, and you whirled to your companion, almost desperate.

"We're so close," you told him, "I can feel it, I can almost hear their voices again." He blinked at you with pity.

"We're in a dangerous area," he reminded you, "This place is known for its wild animals and their exceptional aggression."

He had warned you. He had told you.

And you're holding his body in your arms, you're running fingers that don't know magic to heal him over the marks that ravage his pale skin. He's not all that younger than you, and he's taller, but he's still your _son_.

Seeing his blood stain your clothes as his breathing slows, feeling your helplessness...  
It's agonizing. You can't heal him or even ease his passage. But you need to try, you _need_ to help.

You focus all your energy. You draw all the mana around you into a single ball, and submerge your whole being into the currents.  
You desperately open him up, a tiny rift in his soul, his being, and force the spell into him, trying to keep your intent in mind— trying to heal him, to bring him back as you see him fading—

His body is vaporized as you release your hold on the spell, and your ears are ringing as a transparent figure sprawls on your lap.  
You run your hand through his half solid hair, and gently gather him in your arms, pulling him close to you.

"I'm sorry Will," you choke out, and his eyes open to watch you, his faintly grey skin glowing dimly. "God, I don't— I wish that I had listened to you."

He shifts a little, and wraps his arms around your neck as you stand, holding onto you like a child.

"Phil," he whispers, voice crackly and barely audible, "It's alright, you did what you could. I'm okay, aren't I?"

You hold him closer, and answer with a bitter tone,

"You're a ghost, Wilbur. You're a bloody ghost, you died. I even technically killed you with the spell that bound you to earth." A strangled laugh escapes you as you hold him closer, your son. "I practically killed my own SON! Between my recklessness and the spell—"

He tugs on your hat, fingers partially phasing through before catching it. Although he just seems to be getting the hang of his body, it quiets you as you watch him, testing as he tugs on your clothing and practices solidifying and becoming non-corporeal again.

You are Philza, the mage of death. And in spite of all Wilbur's warnings, you pushed both of you far beyond your limits, and led him to his death.

You snuffed out the bright flame of his life yourself with the spell that bound his spirit to earth, not willing to lose him. Your spell prevented a peaceful death, instead bringing his spirit to wander until you release him for good.

You are Philza, and you just killed your son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's! If you're spending it alone and wish you weren't, I send you a bunch of love and good vibes <3


	35. Chapter 35

Skeppy jolts awake, Bad's warmth slipping through his fingers like sand as a shriek pierces his daze. He looks around, his abrupt awakening baffling him and his reality temporarily incongruent— _wasn't I in the Nether? I was holding Bad, but then there was that weird ashy place— is that the Nether too? Did he teleport? Was he dreaming too?_ —and not quite sitting right with him.

He registers the rest of the scene as the voice that had woken him raises to a wail from its whimper, babbling out despaired cries.

He looks over the others to see Tommy and Fundy already comforting the owner of the sobbing voice; Tubbo. Skeppy stiffens, and looks for answers to Sapnap, who shrugs helplessly.

"Tubbo," Tommy's saying frantically but firmly, "Tubbo, please, listen, I— you're not makin' sense, please Tubbo. What's wrong, mate? Did you hurt yourself? Think of something bad? Did you remember something?" Tubbo shakes his head, and Skeppy tentatively shuffles a bit closer, kneeling down to look up to the boy as he hugs his knees to himself.

"Come on," Fundy encourages weakly, uneasily, "chin up, Tub! Tell us what's wrong."

Skeppy can't help but feel a chill as Tubbo opens his eyes, sniffling as he quiets his voice. His once bright blue eyes are now mismatched, one a dimmed shade of grey-blue. Tommy stiffens with some emotion as he sees them, and he asks fearfully,

"Who?"

Tubbo's whimpers raise back into a wail, for the moment inconsolable.

Skeppy asks the two,

"What does that mean? I— what kind of magic changes your eyes?"

Tommy glares at him.

"It's not just changing his eyes," he snaps, "That means one of the fellas we're looking for?" He mimes slitting his throat, and Skeppy can catch the tears beading in his eyes despite the blond blinking them away as quickly as he can. He slides his gaze to Fundy, askance, and the shifter catches his questioning and explains,

"It looks something like, uh...bond spell. You use ties of magic to let the other member of the pair know if a certain set of people are alive. It works best with two duos, I think." Skeppy nods in slow understanding, rubbing his nose absently and starting as he notices ash smudging on his skin.

He glances down to his fingers, and swallows away unease as he realizes they're coated in fine, pale grey ash.

_Just like the dream._

He's starting to suspect that these dreams he's been having with Bad are significantly realer than would be comfortable. Vaguely, Fundy mentioning things about dreams drifts through his mind, but he focuses on the task at hand; he places his hand on Tubbo's reassuringly.

"Hey, Tubbo," he murmurs softly, an encouraging thread in his voice, "It's gonna be okay. Can you take some deep breaths and tell us what's wrong?"

  
Despite his, Fundy's, and Tommy's _combined_ efforts, Tubbo only comes down from his hysterics several minutes later, by which point the front of his shirt is drenched in tears. Skeppy's heart aches from the sight of the boy crying so uncontrollably.

Sapnap has slipped away to the kitchen, seemingly to avoid the situation.

"I felt," Tubbo finally gasps out, pointing to his dimmed eye (which is slowly regaining a lightness to it), "Wilbur. I felt his life just— gone. Like someone took 'im and blew out his candle. An' I don't think Phil could do anything to save him because he isn't relighting. He's just— _gone."_

The word hurts, it aches and settles over the company.

Gone. One of the family members that the pair of youths had been searching so desperately; lost, just like that.

  
Skeppy's mouth feels numb, and the only thing he manages to say is a stuttered, weak,

"O-Oh. _Oh."_ And like that, his thoughts descend to maul him.

_We should've been moving faster! We should've looked for them! We should've done anything except linger and dawdle!_

He tries to shake them off, but resolves himself to the negative thoughts as he tries to comfort Tubbo with gentle swipes of his thumb over the back of his hand, a small gesture that hopefully would be a little bit calming.

But nothing seems to help; both boys are shaken, Tubbo far more than Tommy.

"Poor thing," Fundy murmurs sympathetically, and ushers the other two back a bit as he carefully lifts Tubbo from the chair, Tubbo quickly wrapping his arms around the shifter's neck and allowing his legs to be lifted and settled around Fundy's waist as he clings to him like a small child, seeking some form of comfort. "I'm going to put him to bed," Fundy informs the others. "He's tired already and that spell did a number on him physically and emotionally, you know? So I'll tuck him in after helping him, and then we can talk a bit more."

The fatherly approach to the situation seems to take Skeppy and Sapnap (who had emerged from the kitchen a few seconds earlier) by surprise.

But, as Fundy carries the shocked boy up to get him ready for bed, it's not _that_ surprising after all, Skeppy reflects. The shifter had been watching over them in his fox body for at least a decent while now, and it's not like the two of them didn't stir up some protective and caring instinct lurking under Skeppy's carefree exterior.

Sapnap seems uneasy though.

"What the hell's his deal??" He questions, sipping his glass of milk. "Does he think that like...he's his dad?" Tommy shrugs.

"I trust 'im," he retorts simply, and heads upstairs, now unwilling to spend more time away from his companion.

 _They're really like brothers,_ Skeppy muses distantly, "Really clingy brothers from different mothers."

  
Sapnap raises a brow as Skeppy's thoughts translate into words, but he makes no comment. It's a true statement, after all.

He takes another sip before asking,

"Why are you all like...ashy anyway?" Skeppy looks down to his shoes and his hands, remembering the mysterious ash that had appeared in his sleep.

"Dunno," he admits sheepishly, "I woke up when Tubbo shrieked and then I kinda just saw that my hands were a bit ashy and I only saw the other ash when you pointed it out."

Sapnap reaches over, running his finger over Skeppy's, collecting a thin dusting of ash and examining it. His nose wrinkles with his intent stare, and he questions, not taking his gaze off of it,

"You DREAMT ash onto yourself?" He wipes it off on his shirt, seemingly deeming it harmless. Skeppy nods.

"I was like, dreaming about Bad and then I was in this ashen landscape," he explains, "Like— it was just ash. As far as I could see. Ash and smoke and air too heavy and hot to breathe. He was heading towards a break in the smoke, I think; there was a light? Or something like that. And then I was in the cell with him again—" He draws in a sharp breath, feeling rage flare up inside him along with an insistent small voice.

_Find find find!! Save! Find him! Him! Him!!_

The compulsion had never been strong enough to move him to action before, but in the moment he finds himself stumbling towards the door in a daze, coming to his senses when Sapnap slaps his hand off the doorknob (gently, firmly).

"Hey, listen to me! You're not walking off into the streets at night again," he barks, with a worried note. "What the hell was that dude? You went all glazy and zombie eyed before dragging yourself to the door."

Skeppy rubs his temple and stares at the planks of the floor.

"...the compulsion," he murmurs, "Y'know, the soulmate one. It— I was thinking about what I saw and it acted up."

"What did you see?" Sapnap asks, and Skeppy holds up his arm, tracing a line where he remembers the scar being,

"He had this thick scar wrapping around his arm, and I think— I think it's from when it was broken. But he had all these little cuts and bruises and burns on his sides and," he traces fingers up his sides, "he was covered in scars. Like he had just been hacked up over and over and healed it over. I..."

-

Sapnap can see his friend sway a bit, the distant look in his eyes replaced with alarm for a second; the warrior dives forward to stabilize him.

"Easy, big man," he murmurs, "You don't need to go passing out about iT?!—"

His voice rises to a sharp squeak as Skeppy grabs hold of his shirt collar, looking up beseechingly with tears rapidly dripping down his cheeks.

"Sapnap I-I don't know if he can make it," he admits in a brittle voice, his breaths short and quick, as though he's on the verge of truly breaking down. "He looked so _hollow_ — he probably hasn't eaten much at all, it's been almost two weeks hasn't it? Even with those pigs helping him, he— I don't know how much they can do, he looks half d-dead already."

Looking around for a moment as though to seek guidance from someone who isn't there, Sapnap bites his lip nervously, and wraps his arms around Skeppy, petting his hair awkwardly as he attempts to reassure him,

"Hey, he's made it this long...surely we can get there in time to save him, it can't be longer than a week more at absolute maximum without magic travel. And then we can totally wreak havoc on the ones who hurt him." His attempt falls flat in comparison to Skeppy's growing anxiety. Sapnap's heart drops as he watches his friend biting at his cheek, looking anywhere but at Sapnap. Anywhere but the person who just told him it would be at most a week more before they could save his loved one from the torture he was enduring.

"Enduring?" Sapnap softly laughs, "God, I'm using the big words tonight. Look, Skeppy, I'm sure he'll be okay. He's banged up and definitely traumatized, but getting him back alive is what matters. Imagine how happy he'll be when he sees you! He'll have a smile bright enough that the sun has to look away." His voice softens slightly as he imagines it; the boy from Skeppy's photos, his face lit up with a radiant, beaming smile.  
 _...that's what I really want to see when this is done. My mate, smiling like that._

But it's so unlikely by now; farfetched, implausible, whatever word you want to use.

His mouth curves downward slightly as he dwells on the thought, but he shakes it off, drawing Skeppy closer.

He tucks his faintly sniffling friend close against his chest, now running his fingers through Skeppy's hair as he coos soft repetitive reassurances until Skeppy steps back, looking up at him as he rubs his eyes.

"...thanks," he murmurs, and for the first time, it doesn't seem begrudging at all. "...also really late, but like sorry for dumping my Name and running? I just felt stupid making it into a big deal. I'm just me, you're just you, it's just a name."

Sapnap knows very well that that's not how he feels about Names. But he chooses to ignore it, allowing the fib to slide away.

"It was a little weird," he admits, "But I don't mind knowing. Or how you told me. If something happens where I need to use it, I'll use it wisely."

Somewhere, he feels like he remembers someone telling him that he could probably erase a memory using someone's true name.

Guilt prickles in him as he remembers Skeppy crying out in his sleep, letting the name Darryl slip. He hasn't told him yet. He might not ever tell him.  
 _What would happen if I tried to erase this pain they've gone through? I wonder if it would do something bad to them. Maybe I shouldn't fuck with it._

But at the same time, he wishes they could be happy. Skeppy is slowly turning into him and he hates it; hates knowing that Skeppy has a cheerful and bright spirit smothering under the semi-cynical mask, that the loss of his mate has taken a key part of him away, condemning him to this coldness.

Sapnap would rather cut his own throat before see Skeppy become another him.

Another person stuck searching for their missing half, feeling permanently lost and being dragged away at random towards a direction where they might be, but never knowing for sure if they're okay, or in pain, or anything.

Or worse, dead. He's grown to accept his might be dead, even if he didn't feel it.

His mask has slipped though, and he finds Skeppy anxiously studying his expression with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, an expression of concern and curiosity. Sapnap's brooding scowl drops as soon as he realizes it's there, and he jokes,

"Come on, quit staring at me like that. M'not gonna kiss you, that's his job once we get him back." Skeppy's cheeks flush and he squawks indignantly, punching his taller friend in the arm as the raven-haired man snickers over his joke. "What?? You were looking all kissable and shit, if I wasn't a pining possible-widow I would've given you a smoochie! A little kissie!"

Skeppy punches harder this time, but he's laughing now, cheeks on fire and Sapnap's laugh shifts from a cackle of sadistic enjoyment to a genuine laugh, seeing his friend cheer up.

  
Fundy gags VERY loudly from the stairs, announcing his presence to the pair in what is possibly the most immature way he could've picked.

Skeppy jumps a little, and Fundy crosses his arms as Sapnap rolls his eyes.

"Don't you think you guys should be thinking about our next course of action? Don't get me wrong, I'm all for some good japes and prankery, but now doesn't seem like the time." Fundy's more solemn query jolts the remind of what had just happened, and both young men hang their heads, Skeppy awkwardly scratching the back of his neck while Sapnap studies the floor with intent.

_Right, someone's family member just died. I..wonder where they should go from here with that? That "Philza" still seems alive...._

Skeppy stiffens, unexpectedly feeling a presence— he feels hunted, like someone is now gazing down upon him.

He turns abruptly, and Sapnap makes a small noise in questioning.

"...Felt watched," Skeppy says curtly, and Fundy nods. "You're right though, foxboy. We need to plan this shit, between Eret's ominous prophecy and my dreams and now Tubbo's death announcement? We're pretty stacked up. Do you know any like...magic that could get a letter to someone in the end?"

Fundy's gaze brightens.

"I may be able to maneuver a spell into doing that," he states agreeably.

Sapnap reaches into his bag, and draws out his map, pointing to the city they're in now and tracing his finger along to the mountain range they want to reach.

"While you do that, can you also tell me if you know any teleportation circles in this area?"

Fundy scoffs slightly.

"Do I look like the mountaineering type? I've never been up that way. Certainly not by magic...but there likely is one. Mages were a large part of the diplomatic treaties until the massacre."

Skeppy's spine crawls, the strange, piercing sensation of being watched still weighing heavily on him.

It was as though tar poured down his back only for someone to cover him in pine needles and feathers; prickling, itching, and ticklish while still feeling unnatural. He scratches at his neck harder, irritation now lacing his movements.

_Whoever is watching must feel like an idiot at this point._


	36. Chapter 36

Clay dispels his grasp over the disk, flinching.

"He could tell I was scrying him," the blond mutters as George sidles down the stairs to sit next to him. They're departing in a few hours, once the sun rises in the Overworld. Despite George's various colorful protests, Clay had insisted it was better to wait a bit more than to risk George being hurt _further_ by mobs and the like.

Despite this, the human proudly holds his chin high, his skin no longer cast with sickly pallor (though the purple starburst still remains firmly burned into his face) and his eyes bright with eagerness.

Clay couldn't help noting that this is the most excited George has been the entire time he's been in this dimension; that spark in his eyes at the idea of fighting, at the idea of being directly helpful...it was something Clay alone couldn't give him.

And though it stung a tiny bit that life here at the palace would never truly be _living_ for George, Clay understands. George is a hunter, a warrior. He's grown up with weapon in hand and danger on his horizons.

He could never be content as a doll. He's far stronger than that. Clay just got used to the idea of him being weak and needy due to the delirium he had been locked in at the time of their meeting.

_I can't stifle him._

"Dream?" He snaps out of his thoughts, still staring at George. George, who has been talking, he realizes with a slightly jolt. "Were you listening at all? I know my face is a wreck but you don't need to stare that hard."

His playful tone falls on worried ears and Clay takes a deep breath.

"...of course," he lies. George cocks a brow and quips back without hesitation.

"Uh huhhhh~ so what was I talking about, pretty boy?" Clay's hands instinctively go to cover his cheeks as he feels them grow warm, but instead he brushes his hair back and steels himself, trying to recall anything George had said.

"...you were asking about how my scrying was going?" He hates that his voice comes out uncertain, and George punches his shoulder, disappointment now overtaking his eager spark.

"Liar. I was asking you about the room where the seals are kept. And that person down there." Clay's indignation at being called on his lies pales to secret he's reminded George is now privy to.

He takes George's hands in his own, feeling George's gloves as the rough material rubs against his palms.

"...don't mention that room to anyone else," he utters softly, "Nor its resident, alright? All I can tell you without risking trouble is that being is many souls bound together. With each generation of my family, their power grows."

George nods, puzzled, and he jerks, turning towards the door as a creak alerts them to someone approaching in the hallway.

Clay's advisor respectfully knocks, and in the language used by many residents of his realm, requests entry. Clay answers back in the same odd tongue of croaking noises, and a tall figure slips into the room, bowing briefly.

George is still baffled by that language, Clay notes distantly, seeing his confusion. The advisor informs him that the portal is opening soon, and that the sun will rise within the hour.

The time passed much faster than he had thought it would— but as soon as he began to scry Skeppy, he found that time slipped away easily.

Watching him was oddly dreamlike; despite his quick, jerky movements and hyperactive behavior, Skeppy seemed otherworldly. The longer he watched, the more Clay grew certain that he was a mage after all. Maybe not one so obvious as Bad, but still a powerful one nonetheless. One powerful enough that he became aware of the prince's intrigued gaze on him, became aware of the fascination he had taken.

And that was uncommon. George tugs on his hair, gently this time, and pulls him back out of his head.

"I wasn't listening, I'm sorry, I was just thinking about your friend," Clay impulsively blurts, and George snorts.

"Good thing I wasn't talking, you idiot. How DID your scrying go?" Clay exhales in relief at the brunet's words.

"It was interesting," he starts, "...really interesting. So much so that I might have lost an hour or two just watching him? It's weird." George nods.

"All magic is weird, so I don't doubt it," he replies, and Clay shakes his head.

"No, like...he's weird. He seems so not of that world, but yet like he belongs firmly in it. And he felt me scrying him. Looked right up at where I was watching from. That means at the very least he has some connections to the astral planes— he's already hinted at dreamwalker abilities. This just makes it more certain."

George tilts his head, and leans his cheek on his palm as he props his face up contemplatively.

"Skeppy never really talked about weird dreams or anything though," he finally says, but seems to be holding something back.

George said that, but he clearly didn't fully believe it. In fact...

 _Wait_.

George's eyes widen, and he murmurs,

"...wait, never mind. Nearly forgot about that." Clay raises his eyebrows, and waits, watching George.

This had come naturally between them; an acknowledgment that when George remembers things, he needs to process them before trying to explain.

A minute passes and George begins.

"This was a while back, mind you...like, three years? I think I had just turned...twenty-one?" The sudden realization that Clay doesn't know exactly how old George is rises up, but he swallows it to listen. "And he was...god, he was like fucking?? I think he was seventeen. He had taken Bad on their first little expedition out into the woods together, since Bad was twenty-twoish and had usually been assigned older warriors to keep an eye out for danger when he needed to go deep into the woods for herb gathering."

He pauses, summoning up words for the rest, and Clay quietly interjects,

"So you're...twenty-four?" George nods.

"Yeah. Anyway, the day after he was exhausted and looked like he didn't sleep at all. He kept talking about how _weird_ his dreams were, about the 'green eyes that watched' and the 'really hot dark place', that was 'full of pigs.' And the _really_ weird part, now that I think about it, was when he like, took Bad's arm in his hands and traced this one spot with a weird blank look before asking him if it had ever been broken. Bad told him no and Skeppy just—" George shudders.

Clay waits again, impatiently.

"Sorry, it was just so?...creepy, at the time. He looked up at him and told him flatly, 'not yet, huh?' How did I even forget about this?...it was one of three times, I'm pretty sure. All of them had the same weird feeling to them." George frowns, and then his eyes widen.

"What is it?" Clay asks, yelping as George firmly takes his scrying disk and stares at it for a moment, seemingly transfixed by the glimmer, and then asking,

"...Can you see Bad at all? **Can you tell if his arm is broken?"**

 **  
**The question takes a moment to register, but Clay sucks in a breath when he realizes what it's really asking. If Bad's arm was broken as Skeppy had told him it would be, then there's a chance he had prophetic flashes in his dreams, at least back then.

He passes his hand over the disk, deciding to risk the menacing aura to see Bad.

The image ripples, uneasily coming to him, and George leans over as Bad's chained arms come into focus, and the sound of George's held breath exhaling quickly prompts Clay to ask,

"Is it?..." George points, nodding.

"That's the line Skeppy traced," he says, picking out a wide scar on Bad's arm. "..let's, let's..."

Clay's hold on the scrying is shattered as a mass of darkness clouds their view, a pair of piercing eyes boring angrily into him for a moment before the disk heats up.

He drops it with a clatter. _Again_...

"Let's," George's immediate focus seems scattered by the eyes, and he flaps his hands for another second, before bursting out properly, "Let's think about the others then!! He said one about me, he remembered me having wings, like an angel he said," George's agitation is infectious, and Clay finds himself rocking where he sits, leaning forwards and backwards in mimicry of George's anxious bouncing, "And he told me I had a purple star, right— right where the marking is."

The realization comes as he says it, his hand reaching up to trace the purple starburst on his cheek.

"What else?" Clay asks urgently, and George strains his memory back, searching for the recollection.

"Uh...for that one he said that I was reaching for him, he was hanging onto something and there was something orange and glowing behind me. He said it looked like a halo, but also like...fire...it was hot, he said. And then I went black."

Clay's not certain of that one's meaning, but he already dislikes it. Urgently, he pushes forwards,

"Last one?"

George's hesitation on this one is obvious. He slowly lays out what he can recall.

"He...he told me that the place we were standing, the mountain? He told me that in a year it would be gone. He was staring right at the sun when he did, and he just...said...

'George, by this day next year, this whole mountain will be submerged. Something will eat it whole, and it will be gone. There's other places that will be taken, too. They were like tears in the ground, and George? They left nothing where they ripped open. It was nothing but a hole.' I still— he looked so hollow and empty when he said it. It was like something took over his spirit to tell me about some coming of the end times."

Clay's mind is racing as he takes the pieces and tries to put them together.

_Broken arm. Wings. Halo, but of...fire? Going black, reaching for him. Heat. Submersion. Whole mountains gone. Tears in the ground...chasms? An earthquake?_

But one thing solidifies out of the murkiness, from George's anecdotal information on how Skeppy had behaved after his seemingly prophetic dreams.

"Skeppy's not just a dreamscape mage," Clay almost sounds like he's cursing as he says it, "He's a fucking planeswalker."

"A plane...swalker?" George questions, baffled. Clay nods, grumbling as he begins to gather his remaining items and shove them viciously into a bag.

"A planeswalker," he repeats, "You know? One of the mages of old times that could...let's see...uh, commune with the dead, astral project, enter dreams, and like I dunno, summon and bind celestial beings?"

George's confusion intensifies as Clay begins to pace, gesturing with his hands as he speaks, attempting to clarify the situation.

"Don't get me wrong, planeswalkers are at best godly and at worst an incredible liability, and since he's untrained and definitely, DEFINITELY not properly bound to this plane to begin with, he's the latter, and pretty useless in the magical regard." George starts, about to make an offended remark on Skeppy's behalf, but Clay waves him off. "The issue is, anything can get into him, right? Tap into his free-roaming spirit and fuck shit up in there, use him. As a vessel, as a host— you get the gist."

George puzzles over it, and then slowly asks, trying to piece it all together,

"So something powerful and not particularly nice could commandeer him? And then use his abilities to their fullest potential but for harm?" Clay nods, relieved that his point got across. "...so how did you know he's one?"

Clay takes a deep breath, and then simply says,

"Dreamwalkers can't touch people or their environment. I thought he was a dreamwalker until I saw Bad reacting to his touch. Planeswalkers also tend to have prophetic dreams that leave them partially tethered to reality— like what you described. In the case I'm wrong, it could be a lot of coincidence— but I'd prefer to prepare for the worst and hope for the best."

"Would he have an ancestor in that book?" George wonders, "The one with Bad's ancestor and yours."

Clay's ancestor.

Suddenly another piece clicks into place; the memory of the woman illustrated in the book of mages with Clay's eyes and mask, and the silhouette in the crystal library below the palace. George gasps, and tugs Clay closer to ask in a hushed voice,

"That's what they were, in the room with the seals, isn't it? Your ancestor?" Clay pales slightly, and he murmurs in reply,

"More than that. Let's not talk about it, shall we?" George furrows his brow, still intrigued by the person, whatever and whomever they were. But at the anxious look on the blond's face, he wisely drops the train of thought and returns to Skeppy.

"So why is it such a bad thing that Skeppy is one?" He resumes, and Clay gestures vaguely,

"Because anything could just snap him up and use whatever powers he has. And he very well might have an ancestor in that book; there's a secondary and tertiary volume, and all of them detail over five hundred mages. So..." George's eyes widen, an impressed brow quirking upwards.

He knew there had been thousands of mages from the previous history lessons, but...they're all _documented?_

"That's insane," he remarks incredulously, "Are...ALL, the mages documented?" Clay shakes his head.

"Many died in the process of the spells or were even vaporized. Some withheld their identities. Some were mages with shifting powers, and so nobody could be truly certain of their true identity without using their Name to force them to reveal it. So while we do have over a thousand documented, hundreds more have gone silently into obscurity and others completely forgotten."

 _How saddening,_ George briefly thinks, but then remembers that every day and every year, thousands upon thousands of simple folk like him were consigned to oblivion. The thought irks him a bit, but he flattens his mouth into a line and takes a deep breath.

"...when are we setting out?" The question is a shield for his abstract existential musings, and it slips Clay's usually discerning gaze.

"In ten to fifteen minutes," the prince responds softly. "...I'll be relying on you more once we get into the Overworld, but please, do not throw yourself into danger on my account."

George's laugh is mirthless and bitter.

"At this point, all I can do is throw myself into danger and hope for the best," he replies, running his finger along the shaft of one of the arrows in his quiver. His elytra sways in an unfelt breeze, and Clay takes his hand.

"...No, you can do more than that," he encourages, "You can stay safe, protect yourself, and fight on behalf of your loved ones, George. Just because you've been incapacitated doesn't mean there's something to make up for."

 _Hypocrite_.

The thought hangs in the air between them, tense and taunting as George forces himself to smile, draining the aggression from his expression.

_You wouldn't say that if you were hurt. You got your body twisted into the control of that blob and you didn't rest at all, you were right back on your feet, calling shots and ordering people around. You didn't get battered to near death and watch your friends be separated and left to believe you were dead. You're too prideful to sink to the level of retreating to fight another day._

  
But he doesn't say it, doesn't snap out the accusations. He knows they're birthed from the tension and fear he feels thinking about how Bad has been abused in the time he's been recovering, how Skeppy truly believed he was dead for a decent while; George saw the memorial when Clay scryed the village.

He forces the anger and helplessness to drain, and smiles at Clay.

"In that case, remember to do the same," he replies in a neutral tone, words measured carefully. He knows it's unwise to lash out, and that helplessness when it's left unchecked is one of the worst emotions to fester.

Especially when you're a person who is used to being able to fight for yourself and others with ease.

This is hardly the _first_ time George has had to rest and allow an injury to heal; he flexes his hand as he thinks about it, feeling the scar on his palm. He had been told that he wouldn't be able to use that hand, but now that he knows of Bad's nature, he's sure that his friend's tender care is the reason he regained full mobility of it.

Clay flinches suddenly, and rubs his shoulders. The tiny pinpricks where the parasite had entered his skin are more of a rash now; reddened and itchy.  
As if in sympathy, the back of George's neck twinges and he absently scratches it.

_We'll be home soon._

And though he likes it in the End, he's excited over the thought of seeing the dim yellowish grass and trees, the bright blue sky, and everything else the Overworld has that he hasn't seen here.  
Flowers. He remembers Bad trying to teach him the names of flowers.

He can only really remember a handful...  
  
The thought is shoved out of mind when they're informed that the portal is open and the sun has risen. George grabs Clay's hand excitedly, and tugs on him, eager to go.  
Clay leads the way, and soon George stares into the dizzying portal, the flecks of silver and gold glimmering in the abyss-blue depths.

"You ready?"

He nods, and they jump—  
  
 _Oh! I can see the stars again?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update guys!


	37. Chapter 37

Philza combs his hand through his hair, eyeing their map and humming softly in frustration. Wilbur leans over it, and points out softly,

"They're in Gotopia, aren't they? We should go this way if we're flying."

He drags his finger from their position to Gotopia in a line that weaves around the obstacles Phil had been puzzling over.  
The mage shakes his head in response, and answers bluntly,

"If I try to fly through there, Will, we will both be dead. There's barriers that dispel enchantments, and while it won't get rid of my wings, I can't exactly breathe at that altitude. And you can't fly when you can't breathe, y'know?" He then maps a different path. Wilbur studies it, his dark eyes momentarily obscured by him blinking, and he glances up again.

"...I think this works Phil," he agrees softly, "Now, you should probably drink something, shouldn't you? It's been six hours."

Philza cocks a brow.

"It's been two."

Despite his relief over being able to keep Wilbur's spirit in this world, his son's odd relationship with time became clear relatively soon after his death. Not that Wilbur was ever PARTICULARLY good with time— but confusing two hours for six was certainly a downgrade.

Wilbur apologetically laughs, and glances over his shoulder at the horizon.

"So, Phil...do you think I'll melt? In the rain, I mean. I think I might. My body doesn't feel very...water tolerant." Philza waves slightly, and informs him,

"You'll probably melt. But I'll figure out some spell to keep the water off of you, and worst-case scenario...I guess you'll be sent to the ethereal realm for a bit while you get enough energy to rebuild your body."

Wilbur nods, and bites his lip in thought.

"...so we definitely can't do any resurrection, can we?" He asks, a hopeful hint in his voice. Phil shakes his head.

"...not really. Resurrections are poorly recommended anyway, and we don't have any of your body, I vaporized it by accident."

He rolls up the map and shoves it into his bag before setting off once more, Wilbur floating closer with a now-anxious look at the horizon and the clouds drifting over it.

Somewhere, Phil knows, poor Tubbo thought Wilbur had died for real. He was probably crying, and Tommy was probably also upset.  
He regrets not knowing how to save Wilbur other than pulling the trigger himself, but...what's done is done, and it can't change.

He still has his sons, after all...and one wayward son with a god complex to handle.

_Techno, you're not going to keep me out of the Nether forever._

* * *

Aching. Burning.

Two things Bad was currently aware of as he hung between consciousness and unconsciousness.

He could feel the fire lapping at his skin, burning him only for his magic to eagerly heal over the injuries.  
His arms ache from bearing his complete weight as he limply hung from them. His head is ringing and he almost can hear someone murmur his name.

A hand brushes his face, and he almost flinches, but somehow his body is beyond his control now.  
Everything just seemed to go on, and on, and on. He could feel his heartbeat coupled with the second heartbeat of Assu's amulet. The two rhythms reverberate through him, and he slips back into the dream world, back into the ashes.

_-_

_He struggles forwards, now up to his chest in ash. He can see light, so close, almost in reach, and yet it feels so far._

_But this time he reaches it— he stumbles out of the bank of ash, into a placid garden filled with flowers.  
_ _The fresh air almost stings his lungs as he heaves in hungry gasps, and the voice from all the dreams, the voice that keeps following him, gently inquires,_

_"That feels much better, doesn't it? Your lungs must hurt after inhaling so much ash, Darryl." He whips around to face the speaker, only to find...  
  
_ _Himself? No._

_The speaker looks amused at his astonishment, and he offers a gloved hand to him. Bad could mistake the man for himself at a glance, but his features were more slanted, and they don't have the same youthful look Bad's do._

_"You're wondering who I am, aren't you?"_

_"Of— of course I am," Bad chokes out, his voice faltering and weak. "You look just like me. Not even my father looked that similar to me."_

_The man meets his eyes, their calm green gazes locking for a moment._

_"If you let me help you, I can tell you who I am," he breaks the moment of silence with another attempt. "You know they're getting tired of you. What if they try more drastic measures to break you?"_

_Bad stiffens, and glares at the man._

_"Don't make me think about that," he spits, angrily, "I don't know who you are or why you think you have the right—" His voice begins to shake, the thoughts and fears easily blossoming into an ugly bush of vines and thorny paranoia in his chest, "The, the— I don't know why you think it's okay to try to pressure me into letting you help me, no matter who you are!! And it's sick that you'd use my fears to pressure me, it really is. You need a lesson in morality!"_

_The man chuckles softly, and leans down to be at Bad's height, only a few inches away from him; uncomfortably close.  
_ _He blinks lazily, and whispers to him,_

_"Just say you need help and I'll help. You've got to make sacrifices sometimes, Darryl— and that sacrifice may just be soon."_

_Bad was about to slap him, he really was._

-

He wakes up before he can backhand his cryptic, manipulative dream resident however, and he dangles, fuming, in the chains. The burns are already healed to shiny patches of tender skin, and nobody is here with him. Except the EYES.  
He glares at them almost hatefully, now sure that they belong to the condescending man.

The burning rage doesn't last long though; as soon as his body registers the pain it's truly in, he buckles under it and would scream if he was able to.

It seemed like it was the worst thing ever; his skin itched and it stung, while still having the burning sensation of before.  
He can't think of how it reminds him of anything, or how he'd heal it; it just _hurts_.

He would babble if he could. But as it is, his mind is filled with jumbled screams and begging, words that will never be spoken because he _can't.  
_ The eyes blink as though in amusement as they watch his struggling and silent sobbing.

The rattling of the chains as Bad throws his weight against them, trying to do anything at all to relieve the pain, draws Lum's attention. The piglin peers in, cautiously, and sure enough, as he feared, he can see a shadowy, deformed entity, clinging to the corner where the eyes hover, a grin twisting its face further. He shudders, and slides in to help Bad.

He reaches over to undo the manacles, to let him sit down, but at his movement, something seems to break.  
Bad freezes despite all the pain, and his teary eyes lock on Lum's hand, watching it cautiously. Lum raises a confused brow, and unlocks one of the cuffs, allowing Bad to free one hand; however, when Lum sees how the human immediately begins to tear at his abused skin, he reluctantly grabs him by the wrist and returns it to the shackle, much to the dismay and confusion in Bad's eyes.

"You shouldn't do that, you'll hurt yourself more," he scolds softly, and Bad shrinks, nodding vigorously. Lum kneels to gently apply a potion to the raw skin, hoping it will help it heal enough that Bad will be in good condition to escape soon.  
  
It's almost time, according to Assu.  
The liquid trickles down Bad's thighs and over the rest of his legs, where the worst burns are, and he shivers, docile and terrified.

Something has gone wrong in his mind; something has broken.  
He doesn't see the friend Lum is; instead he sees a threat, he sees someone who might hurt him, abuse him in that way he fears so terribly.

Even as the piglin rubs the potion into his injuries, tenderly and with very gentle hands so as not to further irritate his skin, Bad waits, certain this has an ulterior motive, certain that he's going to finally be hurt that specific way. His mouth is dry, well, metaphorically and literally. Even thinking about what he fears makes him grow panicked, as if thinking it will allow someone to pluck it from his mind and make his nightmares a reality.

Lum doesn't do it though; of course not. He finishes applying the potion and tips some water into Bad's mouth, feeds him a bit, and then leaves.  
But the piece that had broken in Bad remains broken.

He's finally caved.


	38. Chapter 38

Skeppy lifts Tubbo onto his back, allowing the sleepy teenager to piggyback for the first leg of the journey.

"So we head to the path leading out of the city," he checks with Sapnap, who nods, pulling on his boots, "and then just keep going till we reach the teleportation circle?"

Fundy cuts in,

"Yeah. Once we get there I'll take you through in a few trips, since Eret was nice enough to show me photos of the circle there. I'll go on my own first, just in case, and then come back."

Tubbo yawns, and rests his chin on Skeppy's shoulder. The boy is practically the same height as Skeppy, but mercifully lighter due to his malnourished body. Fundy would've carried him, but he needs all his energy to teleport them, and Sapnap is taking the bulk of their supplies.

"I don't see why I can't carry Tubbo," Tommy grumbles, tying a bandana around his neck to cover it from the chilly breezes, "I'm taller than ye both."

Skeppy rolls his eyes.

"Is this really what you want to quarrel about?" He asks, exasperated. "I'm carrying Tubbo so that you can defend yourself if needed. If you carried Tubbo, both of you would be sitting ducks, but if I carry him I can drop his ass in half a second to defend us. See?"

"You're in the optimal stabbing position," Sapnap quips playfully, "Plus that means you're MY teammate!"

Both of the boys are still shaken by the death of the previous night, but Tommy at least seems to have fought his grief down for the moment...by layering his urge to protect Tubbo over it until he bordered on ridiculously overprotective.

Tubbo was still...shaken. He stumbled while walking and he had fallen down the stairs that morning, so they decided it was for the best that he was carried. Eret had provided a few more resources once he was rested. Skeppy began further doubting that Eret was _just_ an organization leader when he saw the amount of resources he had access to...but it wasn't his position to prod, he supposed.

So they were getting ready, setting up and preparing to hit the road for the final stretch. Skeppy had told the boys they weren't coming to the Nether, and he meant it— but they refused to not come to the embassy at the very least. And, well...

It could be worse. It could be so much worse.   
So they were coming to the embassy. Fundy swore up and down that he would take them right back to the city once Eret's contacts arrived, and Skeppy even made Tubbo promise not to follow them through the portal.

Tubbo flinches, and buries his face into Skeppy's hood sleepily.

"M hearing a voice sorta," he murmurs, and Skeppy raises a brow.

"Oh?"

"Feels like a daydream though," the teen sighs, "Sucks. It sounded like Phil...kinda."

Sapnap winces. He and Skeppy exchange glances, mutually agreeing this was a side effect of the shock of the previous night; part of the denial stage, possibly.

"Well, what did it say?" Fundy encourages, and Tubbo tilts his head to look at the shifter.

"...'Soon.' It just said that, and I...think I heard 'Techno' as well..." As soon as the name is mentioned, Skeppy stiffens, only for Tubbo to continue, "...I...I think he misses his sons. Tech, Will, me, Tommy...he must feel...really lonely."

_Tech?_

"...Tubbo," Skeppy asks warily, "Did you just imply Techno is your _brother?"_

Tommy nods and steps in,

"Adopted, see. Phil kinda picked up a lot o' us and just made a little family of his own."

Tubbo nods.

"He was nicer," he murmurs, "Before all this. Tech taught us how to do cool stuff and sparred with us. I miss him."

Although a confused flame of betrayal flickers up in Skeppy's heart, Sapnap presses on,

"So...this has to do with the parasite, I'd think? He changed after it, didn't he?"

Tommy stretches as Fundy throws on his jacket.

"Yeah he fuckin did," the blond confirms with a grumble, "Like, 'e was a little murderous to begin with, but he always had it under control. He had _honor_ , you know? But then after the parasite thing started showing up in our world, he got all...how do I say this?...pig 'eaded."

Tubbo begins giggling at the phrase, and Tommy rolls his eyes, but nobody misses the smile on his face hearing Tubbo cheer up a little.

"He became stubborn?" Fundy asks, lost in this explanation. Tommy nods.

"Acted like he was god or somethin'. Anyone who spoke out against him was thrown out."

"God complex," Fundy offers, "He thought he was god." Tommy nods again.

"Basically. When Phil tried to reason with him, we got tossed out. And well, Phil's a mage, Tubbo's a mage, we needed Techno's grace to even bloody exist in the fortress. If we 'ad defied him Tubbo would've been killed and probably Phil too...though, good luck killing that stubborn son of a bitch. He just doesn't die."

He sucks in a breath, a look of fear in his eyes as though he suddenly felt he had jinxed it.

"From his reputation, Philza is a mage extremely versed in death-related magic," Fundy offers, "Goes to reason some of that magic is _preventing_ death."

Sapnap holds up a finger,

"Wait, what's your magic? Aside from shifting."

Fundy shrugs.

"Eh, illusions, teleportation, botany..."

"Botany??" It's chorused by the other three in absolute confusion. Fundy shrugs again,

"Hey, I'm a jack of all trades sort of guy!"

"...so you don't _have_ a specialty," Tubbo snipes, and Fundy winces. "Isn't that right?"

"...okay, okay, maybe I don't," he defends, ears flattening, "But not having one kind of magic I'm super good at doesn't mean I'm not good at what I do know!"

"Alright, fox man," Sapnap teases, and Fundy rolls his eyes.

"I could've been a fish like my ma, I think this is the better option!"

Their back and forth is interrupted by Eret emerging from the study with a small book and a compass, both of which he offers to Sapnap.

"That's a book on Nether flora and fauna," he explains, "And a compass that is supposed to point to the portal you'll be using. Just in case you get lost."

Sapnap gives him a look of gratitude and practically glowing affection. _They really have quite a bond,_ Skeppy reflects, _Eret probably did something pretty big to earn Sapnap's complete trust like he has._

But bonds and books aside, it's finally time to set off...just past noon.

Skeppy winces when he sees the sun directly overhead, its burning rays quickly making him uncomfortably warm, but it _did_ take a while for everyone to be ready.  
Eret waves to them as they set off, wishing them the best luck with their quest.

Skeppy hopes they'll return someday soon.


	39. Chapter 39

It was nice to be traveling again, Tubbo reflects. Despite how their break had refreshed him, he grew quickly anxious to continue on their journey after everything with Fundy and all...

He winces as his eye stings, reminding him of the most unwelcome part of this whole situation. He pushes it out of mind, unwilling to think too hard about it—  
 _Dead, he's dead, he died._ A mocking little voice whines somewhere in his skull, and he shakes his head slightly, grabbing Tommy's hand and squeezing it firmly.

The blond glances at him, and squeezes back unnoticeably. He probably knows how it's hurting. He can always tell.

They've always been together, after all— ever since Philza found them. Tubbo's days alone were filled with adrenaline and terror— the memories don't come easily.

He doesn't really want to remember right now either; he's pulled out of his thoughts by Fundy bumping his ankle and looking up with a little whine.

Tubbo's mouth quirks into a small grin as he brushes his hair out of his eyes. It was largely thanks to Fundy that he was able to keep traveling despite the shock of last night— the other's comforting had massively softened the otherwise devastating night.  
  
The smile makes the fox yip excitedly, and he prances on ahead to wind around Sapnap's ankles as the dark-haired man walks, hand almost brushing Skeppy's arm as the two discuss things in soft, inaudible voices.

Tubbo wonders what they could be thinking of, what they could be planning.  
He glances to Tommy, and asks in a low voice,

"Tommy?"

"Mhm?" Tommy glances back, "Yeah?"

"When they make us go back, what are we going to do? Like, we can't just sit around and do nothing, can we?"

Tommy absentmindedly scratches at the slight bandaging on his arm, the bite mark mostly healed but still bothering him.

"...I guess we could ask Eret," he reasons, "Surely 'e 'as something we could do, righ'?"

Tubbo nods at the assessment. He can't help but want to do something more, even though he understands they should stay safe. He used to be the one pushing to do less, to get into less risky situations— but Phil's absence is a burning coal in his stomach, making him restless.  
He once more looks to their older companions, including Fundy, who is leading the way with a proud little hop in his four-legged step.

"Yeah. That's true. Maybe Phil will find us while we 'elp Eret out too." He wants to believe that. It feels _fake_.

Tommy adjusts Tubbo's strap before it can slip off his shoulder, and stops him.

"Here, look," he murmurs, and fidgets with the accessory, adjusting it so it fits snugly around Tubbo's torso. Tubbo smiles gratefully at the blond.

"Ah! Thanks." They quickly continue walking, catching up the few feet they'd lost.

Skeppy seems so eager to be back on the road; and really, why wouldn't he be eager? Surely he's anxious to see that boy again before something horrible happens to him— Tubbo knows that if the tables turned and Tommy was in that situation, he'd fight tooth and nail to see his friend again, and vice versa.

Something about the haunted, painful, look in Skeppy's eyes every time he woke up though...Tubbo involuntarily shivers.

_He looked so scared. So— broken. Like what he saw killed something in him.  
_ The Nether is no place for someone who fits Bad's description, Tubbo had learned.  
  
His mage mark twinges, and he winces a little, used to it. They must be passing over a mana pool.

Looking around them, he marvels at the city once more; all the bright colors, all the fascinating storefronts and creative ways people decorated their shops...  
Shops. They quickly bring to mind the healer, and he wonders if the man would be willing to try teaching him how to heal.

_After all, it's not like Phil had managed to learn healing enough to teach me at all._ The thought is wry and more than a little disappointed, even if he knows all too well most mages are born into a category of magic that they're good at.

Death-based magic, like necromancy and revival charms and combat enhancement. Communication magic, like his. And...

Fundy is back around his ankles as he contemplates the shifter's magic.  
 _Botany._ He leans down to scratch the fox's cheek. Somehow, him being a person hasn't changed how they interact; Tubbo had already been respectful enough that it had just been a matter of acknowledging that this wasn't an animal.

Not that he doesn't play the part convincingly. Tubbo bumps into someone's elbow, and they yelp as they nearly drop their cargo (several boxes of various sizes).

"I— sorry, are you okay?" Tubbo stutters his apology, and the victim of his absentmindedness nods.

"Tubbo?" They question, and Tubbo's focus snaps to them fully.

"Ant?" He questions, as Skeppy and Sapnap turn to look back at the commotion. Another young man with reddish hair (Tubbo honestly think it's actually red) leans over.

"Ant? Everything okay? I can take one." _That must be Red. No wonder he's named that..._

Ant smiles at his former companion, and answers Red,

"No love, I'm good. This is the boy I was talking about— and Skeppy!!" He seems to abandon his current route to step cautiously over to Skeppy, Red following curiously. Skeppy smiles back.

"Glad to see you found him alright," the hunter says warmly, and the shifter nods excitedly.

"Yeah, I did! Thanks to your help," he beams, and nods to his companion, "Red, this is Skeppy. Skeppy, my boyfriend Red."

Red nods to him courteously as Tubbo watches.

"I'd shake your hand, but mine are a little occupied at the moment. Thanks for helping him," he lightly nudges Ant with his elbow, "Because I was getting really worried and I don't know what I'd do without this cutie."

Ant laughs at the compliment, and Skeppy says gently,

"It was no problem, really. I'm looking for someone myself, so..." Ant nods, remembering, and Tubbo glances at Tommy, who just seems overall perplexed at the interaction.

"He's the shifter we met on the road," he murmurs to the blond, who just tilts his head in obvious confusion, "You met him at the gates, remember?"

Tommy shakes his head, and Tubbo abruptly remembers how delirious Tommy had been when they met back up— that's probably why he's so confused.  
Ant, Red, and Skeppy are chatting slightly, Sapnap joining the conversation with a smile. Soon the time comes for the two shifters to be on their way though, and they part with Ant reminding Skeppy,

"If you ever need my help, I'll do my best to give it. Good luck you guys!"

Tubbo waves as they resume carrying their boxes off to wherever, a small spark of happiness brightening in him. _Ant was okay and he found Red after all. Isn't that wonderful?...I bet we'll find Phil soon, then! Everything seems to be coming full circle._

  
And they're once again on their way, heading to the teleportation ring that will take them at least halfway, if not all the way, to the embassy where they'll have to figure out how to light the portal.

_And where me and Tommy will have to head back,_ Tubbo grumbles mentally, irritation now staining his cheerful mood. He wouldn't like to say he's sulking, but he definitely is. The concept of being sent back, like a child who can't defend himself, really irks him. _He taught me how to use a sword, Tommy knows how to fight, I have my magic— surely we're not weak enough for that treatment to really be NECESSARY?_

He feels the weight of the sword shifting on his back. The question of why Skeppy had two swords suddenly bubbles up, and he trots forwards to ask it.

"Hey, Skeppy?" The older boy glances back, and he continues, "Why'd you have two swords, anyway?"

Skeppy grimaces.

"...The one you have there is mine," He answers, "The one I have is Bad's." An uneasy silence falls between the group for moment, and Skeppy presses on to break it with the statement, "I usually fight with my axe, anyway."

Tubbo nods, and falls back, no longer questioning but feeling rather guilty he had.

_At least he didn't give me Bad's sword. Wait— Bad knew how to fight?  
_ He mentally berates himself quickly, _of course Bad knew how to fight, healers aren't supposed to be defenseless._

They're arriving at the ring, Tubbo can pick out familiar glyphs for various spells and concepts.

_Far. Sight. Link. Distance._ One that he's burned into his mind, _Bond_.

Bond, bind. He reaches up to gingerly press his fingers to his cheek under his eye. There was never any physical pain, he realizes, it was all in his head, all agony conjured up by the loss of his brother.

Tommy is looking at him. Tommy is tightening his grip on his hand, knowing what he's thinking about.  
 _Thank gods for Tommy._


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin I'd like to inform you guys that this chapter is the one that spawned the iconic, sleep deprived line of "Something feels like stop. sogn".   
> A message to all writers: do not underestimate sleep deprivation.

Skeppy stares at the foreign glyphs, watching them as they ripple over the stone.

"You can use this?" He asks Fundy, who answers in short telepathic bursts (the result of a spell he had haphazardly cast before they left).

_"Yeah. Of course."_ He prances up onto the ring, and darts around in circles a few times, examining the glyphs. _"It's the same as any ring. Need to focus on the place though."_

Skeppy knows Fundy could shift to human form any time he pleased, but the shifter seems to unironically prefer traveling as a fox. Come to think of it, Ant had mentioned that he was traveling near completely as a cat before he met up with them; maybe it's just a shifter thing?

Thinking of Ant brings a soft smile to his face. He's happy that the cat shifter was now safely with his boyfriend, who was a very nice young man as well. They seemed so happy around each other.

_I want that, I want everything to be okay._ The thought is bitter in a way, but Skeppy brushes it off. _I want!_ Now the voice that's piping up is the familiar compulsion, and he grabs Sapnap's arm before it acts up fully. The warrior glances down at him, probably wondering why his friend is clinging to his arm. _Want want want!!! Find! Find! Him! Go find him! Now now now now now!_ Skeppy squeezes tightly, and Sapnap's eyes flicker with recognition. As Skeppy shuts his eyes, trying not to let the compulsion get the better of him, he can feel Sapnap's gentle touch on his hair, reminding him of where he is and what he has to be doing right now.

"You okay?" Sapnap's voice is low, concerned as Skeppy loosens his grip on his arm.

"Yeah, it was acting up again," he replies, "Sorry for crushing your arm."

Sapnap shrugs, seemingly not minding much.

_"Alright, get in the ring!"_ Fundy orders the group, and Skeppy starts to take a step—

_Whoa.  
_ The world seems to spin for a second, and he's only vaguely aware of what happens— a pair of arms around his waist, hauling him back before he can collide with the cobble, and Fundy shifting to human, leaning over him as Sapnap hugs him to his chest, not allowing him to fall.

"You alright?" Fundy asks, and Skeppy shivers, shaking his head.

"No, uh— I don't know what happened. I resisted the compulsion and then all of the sudden I'm dizzy and all drained—" Sapnap puts a stop to his words by lifting him a little, testing, and then deciding,

"I'll just carry you until you're sure you're okay. It's not like it will be that hard."

Tommy is taller and Sapnap carried him just fine, so Skeppy doesn't doubt he could manage it— but he still protests.

"No, I can walk! I'm just a little out of it, nothing much." Sapnap ignores him, and nods to Fundy as he and the boys step into the ring.

It flares orange as Fundy, once again in fox form, focuses intently and the gate opens up, pulling them in.

Skeppy feels sick to his stomach and his head is spinning worse than it did the first time he teleported through one of these; when they land on the other side, he feels almost like he's going to throw up.  
Ignoring his queasiness, he buries his face against Sapnap's shirt, trying to get a hold on himself before he really does need to throw up. Sapnap murmurs softly,

"You don't look okay, Skeppy. You're all pale and look like you're gonna be sick."

Skeppy winces, not looking up as he replies, his voice muffled,

"I don't think teleporting agrees with me very much."

Sapnap seems to understand this. He shifts hold on his friend, and tells him,

"We're like, three quarters of the way. I can see the embassy in the distance, it's just a bit of walking to get there." Skeppy nods, and now, he's thankful his protests were ignored. Because he doesn't feel like he could stand, let alone walk.

As Sapnap carries him along towards their destination, Skeppy slowly relaxes, the odd exhaustion that had overcome him pressing him gently into sleep.

* * *

_He's crying?_

_No, no HE isn't crying. Skeppy frantically separates himself from the dream, but can't fully detach himself from the agony Bad's in right now. He can see one of the brutes he had glimpsed before, slowly dragging a blade down his bare back, leaving a red trail. Bad is crying, his whole body shuddering as he soundlessly takes the abuse. From the matrix of scars covering his skin, this is not the first time._

_Skeppy's hands are shaking. This is worse— worse than anything he'd seen before. It was horrific to register the fine red lines all over his loved one's body, horrific to think he doesn't even cry out during this.  
_ _His voice might not even work, Skeppy realizes with a hot flash of anger. He cups Bad's cheeks, his hands still trembling with the sheer amount of anger he feels at the moment and the hatred he feels for the other beings in the cell._

_  
Bad reacts._

_Bad leans into his touch, a familiar, comforting touch. Skeppy wonders why, if it's their soulmate bond or if there's more to it, but he's glad.  
_ _He rubs his thumb over the abused mage's cheek, brushing away tears and leaning in to kiss his forehead gently._

_"I'm so sorry," he apologizes, and even though Bad has reacted thus far, his hollow green eyes give no indication he hears Skeppy. "I'm coming, I'm getting closer to saving you. I'm sorry, I should've been here sooner."_

_Like a broken record, he breaks down into repeated apologies, and he would've hugged him but he doesn't want to hurt him accidentally. Bad looks so...empty. He looks lifeless.  
_ _Halfway to already being a corpse. Halfway to being lost forever. The thought hurts Skeppy deeply, a physical ache in his chest as he's forced to stay in this vision of his poor Bad, and all that he's going through._

_He wants to leave the dream. He wants to stop looking, to go do anything but continue seeing this, as the ache blossoms to the rest of him._

_Seeing the way they tauntingly touch him while hurting him, fingers holding him still and leaving bruises on his arms, since he squirms at even the slightest touch, terror lighting up those empty eyes._

_The way they tell him things, ranging from obscene threats that make Bad tremble and make Skeppy's vision go red, to things like,_

_"You know exactly why this is happening, don't you? This is because of your magic, scum. If you didn't have magic this wouldn't be happening."_

_Skeppy hates everything, every single second, and he wants to punch the torturers.  
_ _But if he's right and his touch affects the world in these dreams, they'll think Bad did it, he realizes as he winds up a punch. He reluctantly puts his hand down, and returns to caressing Bad's cheek and whispering to him, reassuring him as best he can._

_Eventually Bad's body goes limp, his eyes closing, and one of the brutes laughs._

_"We can do it now," it remarks, and reaches towards Bad, "Mean, 'e's broke enough, surely nobody'd notice." A few of the others exchange perturbed and disgusted looks, one of them shaking their head as though they're disappointed with the implications of their companion's actions.  
_

_Skeppy snaps, and punches the brute right in the face, knowing that Bad's unconscious state prevents him from using magic, so they can't blame him.  
_ _His hand goes through the brute, but seems to connect, since the brute recoils._

_"I wouldn't fucking do that," Skeppy spits, and even though he knows they can't hear him, he hopes that it helps, that it works, that it—_

_"We shouldn't," a slightly smaller brute pipes up nervously. Skeppy realizes this one hadn't been partaking in the torture, and upon closer inspection, he can see something is different. Something tells him that this brute is a mage, even though he's not sure how he knows. "There's somethin' in here, it feels like we're bein' watched real close."_

_The brute who Skeppy had punched winces, and concedes,_

_"...maybe we should go then. 'E passed out anyway."_

_They leave, and Skeppy slowly unclenches his hands as he watches small sparks of light ripple up Bad's injuries, wiping them away._

_"I love you Darryl, I'm coming to save you," he promises to the unconscious man, and finally the dream mercifully fades._

* * *

Skeppy slowly wakes up, still cradled in Sapnap's arms. The younger seems to be sitting now as he strokes Skeppy's hair, and talks to Fundy.

"—steel," he's saying, "Some of the maps here aren't written in anything I can understand."

Skeppy shifts, and glances around blearily.  
They must have arrived, he realizes as he sees stained wood walls and the stone floor beneath them, shelves and cabinets still maintained.  
  
A huge obsidian frame stands against the wall, stark and foreboding, an ominous reminder of the dimension they intend to visit.  
The dimension he had just left, technically. Skeppy feels like he's not fully in his body, and if he wasn't sure before, he is now— he definitely wasn't just dreaming.

He despises the fact, and wishes it was just a horrendous nightmare, but at the same time, he's glad he was able to help Bad in some small way.  
 _Possibly a large one,_ he reflects, grinding his teeth together slightly at the thought of how they reached for him.

"We're here?" He rasps out, looking up at Sapnap. The warrior jumps slightly, and quickly recovers, nodding.

"Yeah, we're at the embassy. Are you feeling any better?"

Skeppy slowly adjusts himself, sitting upright (still on Sapnap's lap) and nodding,

"I think so. But— weird dreams. Bad dreams."

The wordplay amuses him; bad dreams, dreams of Bad. But he doesn't have much time to spare for laughter right now.  
He shifts a little more, and Sapnap asks,

"Do you want me to dump you off my lap so you can try standing on your own or are you gonna stay there?" Skeppy chortles mirthlessly, and shakes his head,

"I'm just sitting up so I won't be super dizzy when I do stand. Thanks for carrying me, by the way."

Tubbo dashes into the room, holding a book and a rolled-up paper aloft.

"I think I found em!!" He beams, and hands them to Fundy, who flips through the book and gives a few pages a cursory glance. Then he unrolls the paper, and nods.

"Yeah," he agrees, "This looks like the right kind of map and the book lines up. Sapnap?"

Sapnap slides Skeppy off his lap and into the chair. He stands, making his way over to inspect the map, and confirms it as well.

"That's the one. Now all we need to do is wait for Eret's men, and light the portal."

Tubbo excitedly dashes over to the frame of the portal, running his hand over the glossy black glass as he hums, before asking,

"Should I light it now? I can!" Fundy and Sapnap shake their heads, and start to talk over each other,

"No we shouldn't light it yet—"

"Fuck, no way! No clue what could come through that!"

Skeppy, through his throbbing headache, only hears a jumbled,

"No fuck light clue come that!"

...He's sure they made more sense than that to Tubbo though.  
The boy backs away from the frame, smiling awkwardly. He seems to recognize that he shouldn't do anything with it right now.

Skeppy glances up at the massive obsidian frame, half sunk into the ground. The huge chains that had once held it up are melted at points so they snapped and dropped the frame.

It's still intact and usable, though.

Skeppy leans back closer to Sapnap, pressing against his shirt as he yawns softly, still dizzy and oddly fuzzy with sleep.

"...I didn't feel like that was very normal," he eventually murmurs. "Somehow I— wasn't in my body, exactly? It was weird. But I felt like my body woke up while I was still separate from it."

Fundy's ears perk up and rotate towards the conversation as he sets down his book and leans over.

"You were astral projecting again?" He asks, and Skeppy shudders.

"I don't— I don't know what I was doing. But I feel sick thinking about it, but also at thinking about what they were...doing, to him. I saw Bad, if it's, not clear."

His speech is faltering and uncertain, and he buries his face against Sapnap's shirt, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of his poor friend.  
Sapnap gently runs his hand through Skeppy's hair, brushing the rough, calloused pads of his fingers against his friend's scalp and the nape of his neck in an absentmindedly reassuring manner.  
  
After a moment, Skeppy has enough composure to tentatively explain.

"I tried to punch someone," his voice is weak, "And even though my hand went through them, they seemed to feel it, and someone knew I was watching them. Bad could feel my touch. And they— god, they were—"

Sapnap shifts to cup Skeppy's cheeks as the hunter takes a shuddering breath. He pulls him back into a close hold, still cradling Skeppy's face with one hand.

"Hey," He says softly, "Breathe. Take your time. You don't gotta talk about that stuff if it's too much, dude. You need to remember that you're not going to save Bad by forcing yourself too much."

Skeppy grits his teeth, and rubs his eyes, forcing down tears.

"Yeah, but I shouldn't waste time crying over it either. I'm gonna save him as soon as I can," he vows, and Sapnap mumbles,

"That's literally what you've said this whole journey thing. You need to take some time to recover."

Fundy nods in agreement, and Skeppy glances up to see Tommy peering in from the other room, holding flint and steel aloft with a half-triumphant expression that melts away quickly at the sight of Skeppy's state.

The blond steps into the room, meekly offering Fundy the flint and steel. He might be outspoken and crass usually, but even he can see that this is a bad time for his usual humor.

Tubbo wonders, breaking the silence,

"When will Eret's men get 'ere, d'you think? It's not a long journey..."

Skeppy shrugs, and pushes away from Sapnap to sit up, now fully back and awake. He feels unsteady, but at the same time determined to ignore his state in favor of action.

"They better get here soon or I'm storming the fortress on my own two feet," he declares flatly. Sapnap and Fundy exchange a look, the shifter raising a brow as Sapnap shrugs.

"But that aside," Fundy starts, "Can you tell me a little more about how you were traveling in your dream? How it felt?"

This question seems to stop Skeppy in his tracks for a moment. How _did_ his dream travel feel? And how did he tell the difference between his dream and Bad's dream? Well, the not-dream. His fingers twitch, as though recalling the sticky ash coating them.

"...I felt like me," he eventually starts, as Fundy listens patiently, "I just felt less heavy. I was faster and I just went wherever I wanted to at the time. Thinking about it's weird, because like...I didn't really pay too much attention, but now that I think on it, it was like I was really there, until I tried to punch the guy. And even that had more impact than I thought it would."

Fundy nods. (He has no idea what any of this means, but he can pretend.)

Sapnap fidgets a bit, and quietly tells Skeppy,

"My legs are going fuckin numb, Skep. You're _crushing_ the LIFE outta me with your _fat ass_. How about we go exploring like Tubbo and Tommy did? Check the quarters out and stuff?" The remark makes Skeppy laugh, at least, and he slips off Sapnap's lap, standing on wobbly feet.

"Well, one last thing," he resumes, "When I wanted to leave, there was this feeling like— stop. And then I was gone. It was really strange, because I wasn't in my dream anymore. Buuuut I was also not here. So like, where the FUCK was I?"

Sapnap elbows him.

"In the void, leaving only your heavy body for me to deal with," he snipes, and Skeppy rolls his eyes, elbowing back playfully.

"Oh, cry me a river Saps," he grins, and turns on his heel, stretching. He notes the guilty looks on Tommy and Tubbo's faces, and offers them a warm smile, "What's got you two looking so down?"

Tommy mumbles,

"Nothin." Tubbo immediately shoots him a look.

"Can't speak for him," the brunet sighs, "but I sorta feel a little bad for some reason. Like I could've helped prevent this? I dunno how to say it." Tommy nods slightly, and Skeppy firmly retorts,

"Hey, no. Just because you're from the Nether and you know Techno doesn't make you like guilty by association. You had nothing to do with this situation, and you two are just kids. You can't topple a regime by yourselves."

Sapnap chortles, and trots off somewhere to look around, leaving the others. Tommy's still looking at the ground somewhat sullenly, while Tubbo laces his fingers and looks up to the ceiling from where he's seated on the floor. His eye still looks oddly grey, Skeppy notices with a pang.

But after a moment, Tommy lifts his head, and proudly declares,

"I fuckin COULD topple a whole regime Skeppy, who d'ya think I am?"

"An idiot," Skeppy replies affectionately, and follows after Sapnap. "I think you're an idiot, Tommy."

He can hear the two laughing as he leaves the room, Fundy's snickers and Tubbo's giggles drowned in Tommy's indignant exclamation of,

"Hey! _I mean it's true, but like!_ HEY!!"

Skeppy's smile grows. Though he hasn't gotten over the sight in his dreams, he's reassured by his friends.

Friends.

_That's right. We're friends, aren't we?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in more serious notes, I've been struggling mentally recently, and so updates may slow down- i.e going from 2 chapters to 1 weekly, or 2 but biweekly (every two weeks). I hope this won't happen, but if it does, be forewarned.


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